


Crazy Little Thing Called Lofe

by Danaknowsitall, ShivaeSyke



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Potion/Spell, Slow Burn, What if Bog had a brother?, maybe if you squint right it's a Role Reversal AU, mild mind manipulation, original charaters - Freeform, stare down until you love each other!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 63,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danaknowsitall/pseuds/Danaknowsitall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShivaeSyke/pseuds/ShivaeSyke
Summary: The Bog King's little brother gets love dusted, and he falls in love with the crown princess of the Fairyfields. There's magic, potions, wishes coming true and surprises along the way that will make all of their lives never the same again...
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic)
Comments: 154
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first EVER written work. I will be happy to receive comments and criticism! 
> 
> I thought what would Bog be like if he had a little brother, and the more I pondered the AU I felt like there is a story to be told there. It's been fun so far and I want to run with it more. Hope you will like it!!
> 
> Particular thanks to ShivaeSyke for giving me courage!

It was meant to be a regular raid. They had the usual line of offense in place: First the smaller goblins and hobgoblins would infiltrate the area, scouting ahead of the flying calvary that waited for their signal. Those flying would silently wait in the treetops for the glimmer of the heatless amber torches the scouts were equipped with, and when the signal was given they would rise as a swarm of locusts on their dragonflies to pillage the storage facilities the elf village housed their excesses within.

Bog was proud to have his younger brother Marsh finally with him on the biggest foray of the year. It was his first as Marsh just had his sixteenth birthday over the passing winter. Bog smiled as he heard his brother's wings buzzing and rattling with anticipation. Marsh knew better than to pester Bog about how much longer they would have to wait despite his clear impatience. Bog trained him well with other smaller missions raiding other storehouses, but the Spring Sweep was the biggest raid of the year on the largest, best-stocked warehouse the fairies had. It set the tone for the goblins and their lives in the Dark Forest for the entire year. They needed the seeds, in particular, to be able to survive the rest of the year and grow a decent harvest.

Also, it was fun.

Watching the terror and horrified expressions on elven faces as they ran away never got old! Even though they never harmed any of the civilians, never broke anything of real value and certainly never initiated any fights with the guards, it wouldn’t do to start a war with the fairies. While goblins were better conditioned for fighting than the delicate fairies, they had an arsenal of long-distance weaponry that threatened the earthbound goblins.

 _Besides, why would anyone start a war when it could be avoided?_ Bog thought.

He liked his quiet life in the Dark Forest. He reigned over his kingdom with the wisdom of his ancestors, and he enjoyed sparring and teaching Marsh the art of Staff battle. Of course, they trained with other weapons appropriate to a royal family of the Dark Lands, but the staff was traditional. Since Bog himself would never have children he knew one day Marsh would ascend the throne and would need to teach his own little ones how to wield the kingly staff that marked the rulers of the Dark Forest from the other Dark kingdoms adjoining it.

All would go well tonight, and they would celebrate the Spring Sweep when they returned. Marsh had a bright future ahead of him and Bog was content to watch him grow into his role. Their mother Griselda was supervising the feast preparations but she made Bog promise to keep a close eye on his excitable, younger sibling. She worried over her little son endlessly since the death of her husband by a wolf that came into the forest while she was pregnant. The wolf perished in the end with the joint efforts of Bog, and his father, Bramble, but not without cost. Bramble succumbed to his injuries shortly after, leaving his eldest son his title. Bog was only fourteen at the time. That loss and having to help raise Marsh left Bog with a rather severe disposition and little to no will at all to find a mate, even if the whole thing with HER didn’t happen…

 _Enough reminiscing!_ Bog growled at his wandering thoughts. _Focus on the mission._

Finally, the glimmering glow from the amber torches came. It seemed somewhat wilder than normal, but Bog was still distracted by his wayward thoughts and reflexively signaled the rest of the group to rise and fly toward the elf village.

Yes, it would all go well, and they would celebrate tonight when they returned. Who knows? Maybe Marsh would find fortune where Bog found only misery and select a mate tonight. Maybe, Bog thought hopelessly as he rose from his perch on the tree, his mother would not throw another ’suitresses’ in his direction. Bog spread his wings and grimaced with unpleasant apprehension and pointed his staff in the direction of the village. He took off, his brother and marauders behind him, an ominous dread in his gut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne hates parties.
> 
> Credit's given where credit's due to ShivaeSkye!

It was meant to be just another boring party. Marianne’s father pressured her to go see yet another set of ‘admirers’. Young men carefully selected for her to examine, with the vain hope one will strike a fancy in her eyes. She rolled her eyes and agreed to the meeting, if only to make him stop giving her grief about it. They argued about Marianne’s reluctance to find a partner constantly and while she insisted she would be stronger alone, her father persisted in telling her how she needed a king at her side to be an even better Queen of the Fairyfields.

No matter how much Marianne complained at his ambushed blind dates with ‘proper matches’, he just didn’t get the hint. Marianne suspected her father only wanted grandchildren to dote upon, but she simply could not allow herself to trust another man again. She almost married that bastard Roland, and then he tried to love-dust her! How could her father think she would ever be able to trust any man again when all she saw looking into those suitors’ eyes was plotting and scheming?

 _I’ll NEVER fall in love again…_ thought Marianne.

It became a regular habit to check the vault in the fairy castle to ensure that blasted love potion Roland tried to use on her was still there. She couldn’t sleep at night without confirming that it was still there, locked away and secure. The Sugar Plum fairy denied all requests to deactivate the potion in retaliation for her imprisonment for creating it in the first place and Marianne refused to allow anyone to visit Roland in his cell to see if he knew how to eradicate that potion from the face of the earth. And so she had to learn to live with the fear that someone may one day steal the potion and attempt to use it on her again. She had nightmares of being controlled, under the influence of the potion, and it made her ‘grumpy and somewhat violent’ as her father often complained.

Marianne made her way through the crowd at the party, looking around warily, her mind wandering with some recent fight moves she learned from the book she was currently studying. While it was challenging to adapt a technique she read about into real life, Marianne did quite well and she looked forward to trying them out on the few guards willing and brave enough to face her in the sparring ring. She had a ruthless reputation and not many were competent enough to offer a genuine challenge.

The fairy king called Marianne over to meet yet another of the simpering fairies from one of the other courts in the neighboring kingdoms. She trudged over and made nice with him while imagining how he would look like if she smashed the heel of her hand into his nose. Something about her thoughts must have shown on her face because before long the young fairy’s wings started to involuntarily flutter behind his back and he made a stammering excuse of needing a glass of water to get out of the conversation.

Marianne smiled smugly and turned to the window facing the Dark Forest, watching the sunset over the treetops. She thought of how naïve she used to be before Roland. How she dreamed of talking to the Bog King of the Dark Forest and making it so the fairies and goblins would not be afraid to leave their respective territories anymore, and they could mingle, form friendships and connections, trade with one another. Their communities were separated for far too long. But those were the dreams of an immature girl, one that was not betrayed and almost enslaved. A girl that thought people were essentially good.

That was all in the past.

Five years before, when Marianne started hearing rumors about her beloved Roland, she followed him into the fields. There she saw him meet another fairy and sat on a daisy, watching him twirl the other girl around before holding her tenderly and kissing her. When they started embracing Marianne gasped and Roland looked up at the small sound, his face turned hard with a snarl. Marianne was shocked out of her frozen state and started flying away, only to be knocked down by Roland. That’s when he stood over her and attempted to use the love potion to keep her under his thumb.

She managed to kick him in the knee at just the right angle, jamming a misaligned armored plate up under the kneecap, and flew off as fast as she could while he rolled on the ground in agony. Her eyes filled with tears as she flew blindly and before she realized where she was going, she crashed into a tree and fell to the forest floor. Only then did Marianne see she had mistakenly entered the Dark Forest. With a startled gulp, she soared into the air before the goblins guarding the forest could catch her.

When Marianne returned to the castle later that day she went straight to her father and told him what had happened. Roland was captured, removed from his post as a captain of one of the Guard units, and locked away in the dungeon for treason. His accomplice, the Sugar Plum Fairy, was arrested after he ratted her out and a special prison was made to contain her. Both claimed innocence, but in a rage, the king refused to listen. His only child, the heir to the throne of the Fairyfields, was almost enslaved by the effects of the love potion. He was not pleased with either conspirator and since executions were unheard of in their lands; he gave them the harshest punishment he could morally justify - lifelong imprisonment.

Marianne scorned her broken heart and left it in pieces so it would never hold love for another again. Love for her father and her kingdom remained, and she still felt a passion to protect her citizens and the peaceful life in the Fairyfields. But her heart was sealed closed and locked away, tucked in a corner where it would never be vulnerable to harm again.

From that day forward, she decided never to be made a fool of again and trained herself daily, till her hands bled and blistered, her muscles trembled and her skin was slick with sweat. Heartbroken and feeling as though all her hopes and dreams have shattered beyond salvation, Marianne decided to change everything they made her to be by the oppressing decree of her birth.

She tore her flimsy, flowy gowns, threw her soft slippers away, and began wearing dark, imposing flower powder over her eyelids. All in favour of intimidating anyone who thought she was easy prey. Anybody who would temper her fire and try to control her. She will never be held as a pawn again. Instead, she wore fitted lightweight armour disguised as flower-made tunics, knee-high boots from the same material, and tight leggings with special belts reaching under her tunic hoisting her knives. She became hard and made more snap decisions, cocooning herself in a hard shell so the world was kept at bay. 

Marianne scoffed at her thoughts, biting her lower lip in irritation at the direction they ran. Without warning, an enormous BOOM shook the castle’s rock walls, and a high pitch wailing song echoed through the corridors. Marianne held her breath in horror.

That was Sugar Plum’s voice trilling, “Freedom!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter than before, and I intend to keep it going at about this length in the future. There's much I got planned ahead here, and I'm sure there's much I myself won't be anticipating so.... Stay tuned ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunny plans a jailbreak!

Sunny never thought herself to be a brave elf. She was little even for her kind and wasn’t particularly clever or gifted with any special skills except singing. She worked in the fairy castle as a scullery maid and was charged with cleaning and serving the prisoners in the dungeon for the past year. There she met _him_. He was dreamy and made her swoon with his affection. She knew what people said, that he did something to the princess some years ago, but wasn’t he punished enough for five long years rotting away in the dungeon? The Fairy King and Princess must truly be as cruel and spiteful as Roland said they are. There is no way this beautiful, kind, loving, charming fairy has done anything to warrant such heartless punishment. He claimed to have only loved the princess while she shattered his heart by rejecting him. Sunny found an uncharacteristic frown on her face when she thought of the harsh and unfeeling princess hurting her lovely Roland. 

She planned it well. With Roland’s previous knowledge of the dungeon from the time he was employed by the king he knew of the coming and goings of the guards. He helped her map an escape route through a little-known drainpipe and promised her that when he is free, they will marry and run away together. He told her before he leaves she must get access to the fairy vault since the princess took his mother’s wedding ring for herself when she cruelly threw him in prison. Roland said Marianne stored the precious ring in the vault and he could not bear the thought of marrying Sunny without the ring on her finger.

And so, Sunny plotted to free Roland from prison. She thought of everything, packed her bags, took enough dry food for a week and hid it by the exit of the drainpipe, and even found out where the keys to the vault were. All she needed was a distraction. She waited for the announcement of a party to be given out to the staff in the castle to make the finishing touches of her plan.

She just didn’t think to take into consideration another prisoner that was listening carefully to the whispered conversations between Roland and sunny.  
On the day Sunny planned the jailbreak for, there was yet another revelry for the crown princess. Sunny ground her teeth and thought what a cruel and unjust world it was that a person such as the princess would be celebrated and honoured while a diamond such as Roland would suffer so. She already had all the packs in place with the getaway dragonfly and needed Roland to get the keys from the Warden so they could retrieve the ring from the fairy vault. 

They met before sundown. Sunny had crafted the key from her hairpins and unlocked Roland’s door. She made sure beforehand to give the warden his favourite cake that she made herself for him and put a pinch of sleeping powder in it. Not enough to arouse suspicion, but a sufficient amount of make him slip into sleep so there will be little chance he will wake from Roland takes the keys from his office. 

When she finished unlocking the iron belt that kept Roland’s wings secure to his back and weakened, she saw a foreign emotion cross her heart's desire eyes, too quick to identify. Before she could think of it further Roland swept her up in an embrace, her short legs dangling high above the ground while he kissed her. A feeling, quick as a silver, flashed across her skin. _His kiss is too hard_. She contemplated pushing him away, but dismissed it as this was her first kiss and she probably needed to get used to it. 

When Roland dropped her, she looked up at him in anticipation, wanting to see his beautiful smile. But Roland wasn’t looking at her. He stood at the door of his five year long cage and all but barked at her to come along to the warden’s office. She had to forcibly suppress the retort that sat on the tip of her tongue. _He is just eager to get away before we’re caught_ ; she tried to say to herself, above the whispering doubt that crept up on her. 

The way to the warden was tense but clear. Sunny took care to come at the only blind spot between the afternoon and night guard shifts. She led Roland to the warden, and there they found him in his seat with his head leaning on the headrest of his chair, and a slight dribble of saliva running down from his mouth to his jowls. 

Roland sneered, and muttered curse words under his breath at the pouchy fairy. Sunny started at the harsh sound coming from Roland’s lovely lips but forced herself to concentrate on the task. She silently pointed to the key she discovered to be the warden’s copy to the vault. It was hanging high in the ceiling where neither elf nor earthbound fairy could reach. Roland made quick work of flying up and unlatching it and she gazed with wonder at the way he beat his graceful wings with powerful motions.

They had to return the same way they came from to reach the drainpipe. But this time it was not such a simple task. They took too long at the warden’s office and the guards have already changed shifts. When Sunny heard a guard coming close around the corner she shoved Roland into an empty cell and close the door silently behind her. When that was done she tried to hold her shudders down when the guard passed by. Luckily she was known in the prison as a cleaner and the guard smiled banally at her before moving on - not even suspecting the small elf at jailbreak. Sunny couldn’t believe her luck! 

After the guard walked off, she quickly showed Roland out of the cell where he pretended to sleep and they ran as silently as they could down the hallways. Just as they passed Roland’s old cell Sunny heard a strange tinkle, and a loud Pssst sound. Roland tugged at her hand when she stopped and mouthed _Let’s go!_ But Sunny had already turned the corner to investigate the mysterious sound. She felt drawn to it and could not help herself.

An eerie glow in a pit in the floor crisscrossed with wooden branches revealed a twisted stick with an illuminated spiderweb orb woven in and around the spiky ends of it. It was standing, apparently with no support at all, straight up in the ground. Roland groaned and walked off, leaving Sunny behind. But Sunny didn’t hear his soft footsteps fade. She was entranced by the glitter strands of spidersilk. 

"He lies, you know." a high pitch sing-song voice whispered. 

Sunny didn’t expect any sound to come from the glowing orb, but for some reason she didn’t jump at it. 

"Who lies?" Sunny replied in the same tone as she advanced, standing on tip-toe to look closely through the web. “And who are you, anyway?”

"That good-for-nothing pretty boy you helped escape. All those dreams he told you are just that - dreams. He plans to leave you behind to take the brunt of his escape." the mysterious voice tinkled again and Sunny could now see it came from a miniature figure that floated within the sphere. It appeared to be some kind of female fairy, but she wasn’t like any kind of fairy Sunny had ever seen. 

"He… He w…wouldn’t!" Sunny stammered. 

"Then… pray tell me, dear little elf, where is your beloved now?" the glimmering fairy challenged Sunny. 

In the few milliseconds it took Sunny to turn around, hoping beyond hope the fairy was wrong, the waves of doubt, fear and suspicion threatened to swallow her. Sunny knew what she would see. But it didn’t make seeing it any easier.

"Ro...land?…" Sunny whispered, her empty hand stung and ached, her heart felt heavy with sorrow. Elves were very trusting creatures, and Roland used her. 

"I am the Sugar Plum Fairy," the thunder that echoed in Sunny’s ear abated enough to hear the fairy in the orb whisper. "If you set me free, I can make your wishes come true,"

"My wishes…?" Sunny mouthed, still facing the empty hallway.

"Yes, little elf. Your wishes will be my commands," Sugar plum’s enticing murmur reached Sunny's mind. ‘Three, specifically.’

"And… All I must do is release you?" Sunny turned again to look at Sugar Plum, resolution shining in her eyes along with her tears.

"Yes, little elf," Sugar Plum repeated, "All you must do is reach in to hold my hand, and pull with all your might.’"

"I… I…" Sunny began to stutter again, unable to find the words in the midst of the storm that wracking her little body apart. ‘All right, then.’ Sunny hardened herself, feeling an awful numbness come over her. She never felt this way before, but being numb was infinitely better than being chewed to pieces by the betrayal.

Sunny reached into the sphere, her mind unfazed by the fact her hand appears to have shrunk, still protected by the cotton wool armour of her shock. The Sugar Plum Fairy eagerly grabbed hold of Sunny’s offered hand with her own even smaller, ice-cold one. 

For a few seconds, Sunny did nothing. She closed her eyes and muttered a lightning fast prayer to the stars for this undertaking to work, unable to face another failure that night. When she opened her eyes again, the brown that used to shine like melted chocolate hardened into the cold, unyielding chestnut of frozen earth. 

She pulled harder than she ever had to before in her life. It seems to take a mental effort too, as a voice whispered in her mind to release Sugar Plum’s hand and leave her be. With every second the voice rose in volume till it shouted in her head, demanding to be heard. But Sunny ignored it, pulling harder and ever harder. 

With an almighty tearing sound that shook the world, Sugar Plum was released. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, SUNNY IS FEMALE!
> 
> Got a problem with that???
> 
> Take it up with the writer! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up.....

Marianne’s mouth fell open, terror shaking her to the core.   
  
“Sugar Plum…” she whispered. “Sugar Plum is free!” she repeated with a shout as she snapped out of her horrified shock. the guests in the party turned, startled, to look at her.  
  
“GET OUT” Marianne commanded the civilians as she took off to the air, flying towards the staircase that led to the bowels of the fairy castle, royal guards lagging behind her. She hardly spared a glance to the remaining guests, fully expecting them to follow her instructions. Marianne couldn’t spare the time to evacuate them and trusted her father to supervise the clearing of the ballroom to the safe rooms on the other side of the castle.  
  
She muttered to herself as she drew her sword, ’No, no, no, no, no!’ and landed right by the warden's office at the entrance to the jail. Glaring at the older fairy, her lip curled as she noticed him just awakening from sleep, rubbing at the trail of spit running down his chin.   
“What happened?” she demanded.  
The warden shrank back from the much smaller fairy, noticing her taut wings fluttering in a most ominous fashion.  
‘“…I don’t…” he couldn’t find words while staring into the burning fire in the princess’ eyes.   
  
“ARGH!” Marianne grabbed the collar of the warden’s shirt and shook him for a few seconds before growling, ‘I’ll deal with you later!’  
  
She wasted no time trying to talk to the guards, hurrying to the very bottom level and hovering close to Sugar Plum’s pit. The glow that normally emitted from her presence was there no longer. Marianne’s hands shook, but she came closer to look through the broken rowan branches that used to cover the hole. The twist rowan twig that once contained the eternal essence of the Sugar Plum Fairy was on its side, the magical webbing torn and destroyed.  
  
With a panic that threatened to blacken her sight, Marianne dropped to the ground, her wings no longer able to support her. It was some incalculable time after that when one prison guard, braver than the rest, touched the princess’ shoulder. He was quick enough to flitter back in case she struck out at him with the blade she held still clutched to her hand. At the moment, the blade in her hand was the only stable point in a universe that was fast falling apart.  
  
“Princess Marianne?…” the guard said, and it was obvious he has been trying for some time to get her attention. Marianne stared apathetically for a while at him, before lowering her sword to touch the ground once more. The guard released a breath, before steeling himself.  
  
“Your highness, I think you need to see this.” with that he turned and walked a short way off, around the corner. Marianne closed her eyes for a second before finding that her legs could still work even without sensation and followed him with her backbone ramrod straight.   
  
“What is…?” Marianne started to say, but choked on the words before they came out.   
  
The cell she personally designed for Roland was empty, his shackles on the floor.   
  
Marianne's legs could hold her no more, her knees buckling as she pitched forward. She hoped vainly for oblivion, but that minor mercy was not bestowed upon her. With her cheek on the icy stone floor of the hallway in the prison, all she could see was a pile of small hairpins, fashioned roughly into the shape of a key. 

——————————————

Sunny could not remember feeling so very shaken. Pulling Sugar Plum out depleted almost all her energy. Before she could fully recover, she felt steel bands wrapping around her midsection, and the sensation of floating silently away into the dark. She didn’t fight it, but instead cleared her eyes from exhaustion and focused on her surroundings. She was in the tunnel leading to the outside, the one she planned to escape with… She couldn’t even think of his name. Her cotton wool armour threatened to fade away.

In a flash she smelled the crisp night air, and glimpsed the fading tendrils of the sun in the distance, before speeding faster than any bird could fly into darkness again.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” Sunny said around her dry throat.

“You are my master now. I must keep you safe.” Sunny heard the chiming voice of the fairy she liberated. “We are going to the Dark Forest, where you will recover and regain your strength.”

“But… But why are you doing this for me?” Sunny didn’t understand all Sugar Plum was telling her, ‘“ released you. Why didn’t you fly away?’

“Little elf, you are my charge and my master now. I cannot leave you, and I cannot allow you to be harmed.” Sugar Plum’s voice seemed full of ancient sorrow. “It is my punishment.”

Sunny saw lights flashing below them, the elf village she grew up in and around as a child passing by faster than she could blink, and then by the sudden scent of oak, birch and elder trees Sunny knew they had entered the Dark Forest: the Realm of the Goblins.

——————————————

The raid started out well. The elves were in the middle of some raucous celebration, and it was fairly easy to make them scatter with a wave of his staff and a vicious snarl. Marsh was less than fearsome, with a barely hidden grin on his face, and a twinkle in his eyes while he hovered over the crowd.

Bog suppressed a sigh and a smile at the same time, choosing to concentrate on clearing the elves away before breaking into the small compound of storehouses. 

A loud gasp from his brother alerted him to a brightly shining comet shooting across the dark sky in their direction, and Bog’s growl was enough to startle the goblins near him as he leaped with a buzz of his wings to stand in front of the young Prince and shield him from whatever the fairies must have sent their way. The glowing object neared them but appeared to have a different trajectory in mind, heading towards the imposing forest, staying high up in the sky. Bog’s warning grumble stopped halfway out of his mouth when he saw the comet flew unnaturally fast towards his domain before vanishing from sight between the branches.

He knew he needed to follow it and make certain it would not cause any havoc to his home, but neither could he leave the goblins to handle themselves at the raid. He was torn, and with rising frustration he found a clawed hand on shoulder and turned to it. 

“Bog, you must go!” Marsh urged him with a slight shove, ‘You must find out what that glowing thing was! Mother and the rest of the goblins are there!’ Marsh’s eyes were wide with apprehension and fear.

Bog felt a trickle of dismay at his brother’s words and knew the truth of them. But he couldn't just leave Marsh there by himself!

His brother was already a step ahead of him, “Don’t worry about me. We’re almost done here, then we will head home right away, we won’t be more than a few minutes behind you.” Marsh’s voice was more mature than Bog had ever heard before. 

“When have ye gotten so big?” Bog sighed, defeated.

“When you had your back turned!” Marsh chuckled and gave Bog an enormous grin, dappled with his dimples, now excited to be in charge. ‘I will be fine. You go and make sure mom and the rest are safe.’

With one last look over the diminishing raid and his younger sibling, Bog cracked his neck before turning away to fly in the direction of the Dark Forest Fortress and the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you see where I'm going with this?...
> 
> No?... Good!
> 
> Yes?... You're wrong!!!
> 
> Heeheehee *evil cackle* just wait for the next chapter to get a look at what Roland is up to!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we're cooking!

Marianne didn’t stay down for long. The mutterings from the guards stirred another awful thought and using the rage from it to fuel her, she scraped her hands and her knees over the smooth stone floor to get up, slowly at first. Then with an audible snap of her wings she straightened up, just in time to see her father rush through the door, coming to assess the situation.

“Marianne! Are you alright?” the king asked, clearly discomfited and alarmed by the way his daughter looked, “Where is Sugar Plum?”

Marianne kneeled, picking up the tangled mess of hairpins that must have served as a key to the shackles and prison door. “She’s gone. And so is Roland.”

The fairy king gasped and put his hand over his mouth, “No! How could they have escaped?’

“I don’t know… _I don’t know!”_ Marianne could hardly hold back her fury at her lack of insight, “The rowan alone should have repelled any fairy from touching it! No one should have been able to move it to let Sugar Plum escape!’ she walked up and down the hallway in a frantic pace, gesturing wildly with her hands. “And no one is permitted to even speak to Roland! We don’t know how effective his influence is!”

“Sweetheart…” her father started with an exasperated sigh, ‘ We don’t know if Roland even has this “influence” you claim. What he did is despicable, but it doesn’t mean he has any kind of ability,”

“Dad!” Marianne groaned, “I can’t believe after all these years you still don’t trust me. I told you then, and I’ll tell you now, that slimeball has some kind of sway with people. It’s so subtle you may never notice it, but there’s a reason people always fell for his charming slimy ways!” 

“Well, be that as it may…” King Dagda muttered.

The princess gasped loudly, interrupting whatever her father began to say when she remembered her earlier thought. The hunk of twisted metal fell from her hands and clattered to the stone floor.

”The vault… The potion… Have they taken the potion?!’ with that she took off again, heading further down a hall, slipping into one of the secret passageways leading directly to the fairy archives - The quickest way to get to the vault. 

She always carried her set of keys to the vault, never allowing them to leave her sight. There were two other sets that she knew of. One with her father, and one with the jail warden. He actually served as the Key Master of the castle, since there were rarely prisoners in the fairy dungeon. The Fairyfields being a rather safe and peaceful land. 

After many twists and turns, secret buttons, and hidden doors, Marianne made her way through the last pass where the painting disguising the depository holding her family’s most treasured items. 

Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the painting, hanging askew with strips of canvas curling over the edges.

The memory of the precious portrait flashed through her mind, its depiction of her mother and father smiling gently, Marianne herself on the king's lap. Even as a child, her eyes blazed with an intense golden light, her wild, untamable hair cropped short. Her mother held a small bundle in her arms, the sweet face of her sister showing only big sky-blue eyes and a tiny tuft of blonde hair.

Marianne choked back a sob, seeing the damage done to the priceless treasure. Her eyes filled with tears and her hands trembled with the need to do violence. The painting was ruined, destroyed beyond repair. The words ‘ _You WILL marry me_ ’ cut into it, and the background sliced to ribbons.

——————————————

Roland felt pretty damn good about himself. He managed to rid himself of that clingy little elf effortlessly, taking the first chance he got when she wasn’t looking to slip away. He even left a friendly message for Marianne by the vault. He knew she would understand the threat and the promise in it. Roland smiled self-indulgently about his own cleverness as he crawled through the drainpipe. Did she really think he would forget about her? Marianne was his. She promised him herself and her throne. He wasn’t about to let all of that go! And if he could have some… _fun_ … before he got rid of her for good, all the better! 

As he reached the end of the tunnel, the hollowed rock above him shook, and he heard Sugar Plum screeching about being free. A trickle of anger and fill rippled through him. That stupid little thing! She released Sugar Plum! He scrabbled out of the pipe as quick as he could, grabbed the bags that fool of an elf left, and flew away as fast as he could towards the wild fields that grew by the Dark Forest. No one would look for him with Sugar Plum on the loose.

Maybe it was lucky what's-her-name let that stupid fairy go. The entire kingdom will be on the lookout for her, and none would think of him.

Well, maybe Marianne would, but she was only a pretty little princess. What could she possibly do against him?

——————————————

Sunny allowed herself to be carried through the pitch-black forest, still numb from how her life had turned out. She didn’t have a family and grew up in an orphanage. There was no one to help her, and now the person she thought was the love of her life turned out to be a blackguard, a liar! 

They landed on a high branch in one of the trees. Sunny's mental armour trembled from the emotions it tried to hold back, before disappearing entirely. When the last of the protection it gave dissolved, all of Sunny’s heartbreak crushed her to pieces and she fell to her knees. She held her arms tight around her ribcage, trying vainly to hold herself together as she wailed. She has never felt so utterly alone before and desperately ached to have a mother or a father to turn to.

She only ever wanted to love somebody and be loved back. She only tried to help someone that she truly believed deserved better. How wrong was she, how pathetic. 

_What’s the point in living, if living meant only pain?_

She looked up then, surprised that she was not, in fact, the only person in the entire universe. The gentle, cold embrace that alerted her to the presence of another being was just enough to freeze the waves of sorrow she was fast sinking into.

‘ _Don’t worry, about a thing,’_ Sugar Plum sang softly while stroking Sunny’s hair gently.

‘ _Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright,’_ Sunny hoarsely continued the familiar melody, unable to help herself.

’Yes, little one. Everything will be all right.’ Sugar Plum twisted around to face Sunny when she saw the small elf has stopped crying. ‘I am here now, to make your wishes come true.’

‘You… You said that back at the prison too,’ Sunny finally got a good look at the being in front of her. The more she stared, the more she realised Sugar Plum was not really a fairy at all. She floated in the air, apparently unbound by gravity, without the need for wings. She wore no clothes at all except a pair of molten gold wrist cuffs, and her skin looked almost liquid in its texture. Sunny also noticed that Sugar Plum had three fingers and one thumb, just like elves, and while she had ears like a fairy, her hair wafted solidly above her head, only restrained by a tiara with a design Sunny didn’t recognise. Sugar Plum had no legs to speak of, her narrow waist flowing further down to a point. And, of course, there was one massive difference in Sugar Plum that was most bizarre.

She glowed like a cold, blue, glittery fire.

‘Wha…What _are_ you?’ Sunny said rudely, tilting her head to one side.

‘Humph! That is a very impolite thing to say to someone that just rescued you from a lifetime of confinement!’ Sugar Plum crossed her arms and half turned away, sticking her chin in the air.

‘Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!’ Sunny hurriedly apologised, wiping her blotched face with her sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you! I only meant… I just… never seen anyone like you before.’

Sugar Plum huffed, and turned back around with a smile, ‘I know, I am rather dazzling, aren’t I?’ she twirled in front of Sunny, manifesting little colourful sparkles around her. ‘Well, if you simply _must_ know…’ 

Before Sugar Plum could finish a loud buzzing sound was heard, disturbing the silent forest, getting louder by the second. Accompanying it was an even louder growl. 

‘Uh, oh!’ said Sugar Plum too slow, reaching for Sunny.

With a jarring slam, the Almighty Bog King of the Dark Forest landed, shaking the branch the two females stood on, holding his long staff with one hand and pointing one clawed finger at them.

‘And just what, do ye two think yer doing in my forest?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made me so sad to write about Roland destroying the family painting, since it's irreplaceable.
> 
> And the beast himself is a psychopath, seeking to torment Marianne as much as possible. 
> 
> Sunny... She's stronger than she's letting on, and soon she will get her moment to shine!
> 
> You probably guessed it by now, Sugar Plum is not a fairy at all! let's recap it shall we? Has no legs, blue, has fantastic abilities, attached to a master, gives wishes, and is confined to an ittie bittie space... Get it?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne interrupts a raid and gets an unexpected results. 
> 
> Roland hides under a rock after messing up.

Marianne couldn’t remember getting out of the nightmarish passageway, or the flight she took to the night sky. She only knew three things, each more terrible than the last:

Roland was loose.

Sugar Plum was loose.

The love potion was gone.

With panic threatening to suffocate her, she half ran, half flew out of the no longer safe castle, seeking air that Roland didn’t breathe moments before. 

Marianne soared to the sky, as high as she dared. She looked all around; the darkness has fallen entirely, and she wasn’t sure what she was searching for until she saw it.

The smallest shimmer of blue, vanishing between the treetops of the Dark Forest. 

Marianne ground her teeth before unlocking her jaw to roar, ‘ _SUGAR PLUM!!!_ ’

With her sword still drawn, she shot towards the Dark forest. Having already noted Sugar Plum’s point of entry, she directed the rest of her attention to the ground, in case Roland was skulking around and lagging behind the other fairy. Marianne suspected they somehow got some poor soul to release them, but at that point, she was so enraged she just wanted a target to pummel. 

Behind her, after hearing their princess’ war cry, guards have flooded the sky after Marianne. They followed her trail as closely as they dared; they all knew the royal heir’s temper and would not think to interfere with her chase.

Marianne, hardly able to see any colour other than blistering red, stoked the fire of her anger. It was far easier to be angry than be utterly terrified. She wasn’t afraid only for herself, but for her kingdom and the innocents that would surely suffer for the liberation of that wretched pair and the poison that was the love potion.

The rage also drowned the encompassing guilt.

 _My fault, my fault,_ MY _fault!_

Why, oh why, in the name of every sacred star in the sky had she not secured Roland and Sugar Plum better? Why had she not tried harder to destroy that damnable potion?

Marianne reached an elf village and with the glimmer of twinkling lights came the sounds of screaming too. Without slowing she headed towards the noises, sure Sugar Plum had done something to evoke the chaos there too.

What she saw, she did not expect. A group of about twenty goblins, in varying sizes and races, carrying off crates and bundles of stored goods on their dragonflies. There was another creature there, not one she’d ever seen before but a supervisor of some kind. Marianne zeroed in on it and got closer to challenge the individual. 

“You, there! What in the bloody hell do you are doing?!” She pointed her sword in his direction.

“GAH!” the boy yelped and jumped a foot up in the air, dragonfly wings vibrating. His obvious youth struck a chord with Marianne, and she felt something other than the madness of rage, fear, and guilt, but couldn’t yet put a name to it.

“I’m… We’re… Uhhh… Umm…” the young one stammered, woefully unprepared to be challenged by a half-crazed fairy, his plainly innocent blue eyes wide with dread.

Marianne sighed, some of the tension coiled within breaking off when she realised there was no need to terrorise this poor boy anymore. 

He was somewhat of ringleader to the goblins, which had now have stopped their pillaging and stood shocked but protective around his knees. The boy didn’t look like a goblin, but his association with them was incriminating, regardless. 

The young goblin stood slightly crouched and very thin, one hand wrapped tightly around a short metal-wrought staff tipped with a small chunk of a yellow gem. In the faded light his armour looked dark green with overlarge shoulders and the leaves covering his head grey-green. Thin brown horns resembling branches sprouted from each side of his head, framing his ears, which were slightly smaller than a fairy’s. He was obviously a teenager, probably no older than sixteen, if his smooth skin, rounded cheeks, and skinny neck were any indication. Gold iridescent dragonfly wings shuddered with every loud exhale, betraying his nervousness.

Marianne repeated, her teeth clamping together after every word she spoke, “I said, What in the _bloody hell_ do you think you are doing?” her wings flared and shook to imply the threat in her words.

“I…” the youth started, before bucking himself up and straightening to his full, not unimpressive height and rattling his wings with warning. “I am here to raid your stuff and take it to the Dark Forest!” he proclaimed, seeming almost proud of his sudden exclamation. Marianne glared back haughtily.

“You are here to do _what?”_ the princess’s voice dropped dangerously close to a growl and she turned her head slightly, as if she misheard him. He flinched, making Marianne regret her tone.

“We… We are… raiding your storage units!” he squeaked, then coughed to hide the undignified sound, trying his best not to wilt under the far smaller fairy’s fiery focus. 

“Did you come to my castle tonight? _Did you free Sugar Plum and take the love potion?”_ Marianne gave up on any pretences in favour of getting a straight answer.

“Wha…? Who…? _Wh... where..??_ ” He was so startled and afraid, his blue eyes shining in the obscure light causing guilt to twist her insides. She could only focus on his eyes in her passion, and before long she saw another pair of sweet blue eyes, open with an endearing excitement to be alive.

Dawn’s blue eyes. Her lost baby sister’s blue eyes.

She had cried by the now ruined portrait of her family enough times to see those haunting eyes again, recognising the echo of innocence and the promise of life in the eyes of the goblin in front of her. 

With the shock of that recognition, she could no longer hold a sword against him, her protective instincts rising high and above to clear her mind. The red haze abated enough to let logical thought return to her once more.

_Remember, we allow the goblins to raid the warehouses… Remember the offering we keep for them here every spring…_

Marianne lowered her sword and inhaled deeply through her nose. Sanity returned with a decisive snap like a rubber band. She stared a while longer into the azure of the boy’s eyes, using it to stabilise her after what felt like hours of a cocktail of emotions.

“I am princess Marianne of the Fairyfields,” she stated regally, striking a pose with her wings showing fully opened. “My castle was trespassed and invaded this evening.” She paused then, gauging his reaction. When all she saw from him and his companions was utter befuddlement, she continued, “Did you or yours send anyone there?”

“No! No, not at all!” he said eagerly, tucking his staff into his elbow and waving large, taloned hands in front of him, “We were only here! We didn’t go anywhere else!” 

“Did you see anything or anyone suspicious, then? A glowing blue fairy or a male fairy with blonde hair and green eyes?” She threw a quick scan around her, suddenly realising that while she focused on the goblins in front, she had left her back exposed.

“Uhhh, I haven’t seen any male fairy, no…” the boy’s voice turned her attention back to him. ‘I am the Bog Prince. Of the Dark Forest, that is.’ he said, lacking conviction and looking awkward. “My name’s Marsh!” He declared more cheerfully with a slight smile showing off dimples.

“You’re the Bog _Prince_? _”_ Marianne said with a jolt. “Where is the Bog King?” She looked behind Marsh, as if saying his name will conjure him suddenly behind the younger sibling.

“He… had to… g…” Marsh trailed off, his mouth hung open wide enough for Marianne to see jagged teeth and before she could follow the direction of his gaze he jumped forward towards her, faster than she could have expected and practically fell on top of her.

“HEY! What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?!” Marianne squirmed and tried to shove him off, her sword hand trapped under his lanky form. 

Marsh twisted, but before he could rise again he looked into Marianne’s eyes, and gasped. Marianne saw minuscule pink snakes coil and wind into his eyes before fading. 

——————————————

_DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!!_ Roland thought as he took off back to the dark as fast as he could.

He was so sure Marianne would be an easy target when he heard her terrifying shriek, calling for Sugar Plum’s blood. The sneaky fairy made his way hovering close to the ground to get near enough to where he saw Marianne head towards. He already noticed the goblin raid in procession and noted the tall gangly goblin responsible for the other smaller ones. 

Roland felt all but a shock wave when he saw her land, looking much more fierce and scary than he remembered. He felt a wavering of his plans, but then he pinched himself hard on the thigh to put the tremors to a stop. She challenged the goblin in charge, demanding to know what he was doing. The poor, hideous creature practically melted when faced with the inferno of her presence. 

Roland never felt more aroused in his life, thinking about how he simply must bend the princess to his complete and utter will. He just _HAD_ to have her. With the potion in his hand, uncorked and ready to discharge, he stalked closer to Marianne. 

As if she sensed him, she suddenly looked wildly around her, her eyes briefly settling where he hid behind a particularly large leaf. He heard the goblin speak again, distracting her gaze and causing her to face him again.

A predatory smile spread across Roland's face as he neared. He used his wings to take a carefully calculated flying leap with the love potion’s bottle already tilted and poised for instant usage. His focus fixated entirely on Marianne, knowing her to be the real threat.

He didn’t see the goblin jump and push her out of the way before it was too late, and the precious powder already disposed of and showered the goblin with the pink dust.

Oh, how Roland’s hand longed for his sword so he could cut that brat’s head off for his interference! 

For a few heartbeats, Roland didn’t move and stood stock-still. Then he looked up and saw a small white creature push between the other stunned goblins, take one giant bound, and snatch the remaining potion from his frozen hand.

When the tiny animal landed and sprinted back into the Dark Forest, Roland unfroze and shot straight back into his previous hiding place under a rock in the wild fields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved describing Marsh here, as he doesn't look so identical to his brother. His youth giving him a greener look, and he has more goblin mixed in his appearance than Bog does. Maybe one day I'll make some artwork for it, but for now... 
> 
> You only need to know he's adorbs with dimples showing up at every smile!! He is much more happy-go-lucky than his older brother and because we all know Bog smiling is sexy, and Marsh smiles -all- the time.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please comment to let me know what you think !!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a little more about Sugar Plum...
> 
> Bog doesn't know what to do with weeping girls and his paternal side from helping to raise Marsh is showing.
> 
> I also loved writing the insults, I got some more fun things in my arsenal for future use heehee

Bog advanced slowly on the two trespassers, not allowing himself to be fascinated by the glowing creature. He’d read about such ancient beings in the old archives, but he had never known they still existed in the current world. 

_Djinn are dangerously powerful and spiteful creatures;_ he recalled the texts from his youth. _They are beings of flame or air who are capable of assuming human or animal form and are said to dwell in all conceivable inanimate objects - stones, trees, ruins. Djinn delight in punishing others for any harm done to them, intentionally or unintentionally, and are said to be responsible for many diseases and all kinds of accidents; however, those who know the proper magical procedure can exploit the djinn to their advantage._

Bog was no fool. If such a dangerous creature existed, and it was accompanied by a mortal being, then _they_ must be the master. He wasted no time addressing the djinn and turned his gaze to the elf beside it, while still keeping a wary eye over the ethereal being.

“You there! Master of the djinn!” he started, but before he could say any more, the small female elf’s face crumbled, and tears began flowing, streaming down her reddened cheeks.

“Uhh…” Bog admitted to himself he was somewhat used to people screaming and being aghast when faced with his hideous appearance, but he never had to deal with _tears_ before. 

“You just leave Sunny alone!” the djinn hovered around to face Bog, trying to hide the elf from him while seeming to swell in size. The djinn increased in size, from being smaller than the elf until it was as tall as Bog himself, causing the goblin king to backtrack and then leap off the branch to stay airborne close by. 

“Let me through, _demon_!” Bog snarled at it, brandishing his staff in warning.

“How amusing!” the djinn taunted in a booming voice, laughing coldly, “You believe such a little stick will harm _me_?” Its face darkened, the grin of bitter delight transformed, and it bared its teeth.

Bog gritted his teeth, trying to remember how to one may kill a djinn, and he almost missed the tiny voice squeaking.

“Sugar Plum!”

_That must be its name._ Bog noted that detail for later use. _There could be power to it, as there often was with a true name._

“Please, Sugar Plum! Don’t fight!” The shrill voice said.

In a flash, the demon shrank to its original size, but stubbornly refused to budge from its protective stance in front of the elf. 

“Humph!” it spoke in a clear high voice, crossing icy blue arms and only half turning away from Bog, “I’m only trying to help you, Sunny!”

“I know, I know…” Sunny said timidly, “But please… don’t fight anymore!’ she repeated, in apparent anguish

“Sunny, darling…” Sugar Plum hurried over to Sunny’s side and held her in her arms while the elf broke apart to pieces. 

By now, Bog wasn’t so sure it was his gruesome materialisation that caused the elf called Sunny to cry. She wasn’t even looking at him!

“I… Uhh…” Bog muttered, completely taken aback from how things turned out, but tried again to intimidate the odd pair by landing once more on the branch, as far away as he could.

“Who are ye to come here?” He said, holding back a growl that will surely get him nowhere. “This is _my_ forest, and ye are trespassing!” 

_“_ My… my name is Sunny,” the elf whispered, lifting brown eyes that seemed huge in her little face. 

Bog felt a slight stirring in his chest. This little elf could not be any more different than his little brother, but a voice told him that she was nevertheless just the same. At that moment, despite his unwillingness, he knew he could no more threaten her than he could Marsh.

Bog sighed heavily, and with hard-earned patience, he moved closer, ignoring a sharp glare from the djinn. He made his form as least threatening as he possibly could, vainly attempting to shrink himself down as the djinn had, before coming to sit some paces away from Sunny.

“My name is Bog.” He said softly. Bog lowered his staff to lay across his lap, still unsure of the djinn called Sugar Plum. “What happened to make ye enter this place? I need to know to able to protect my kingdom, and the demon acting as yer pet is a threat to me and mine.” At the last, he threw a poisonous look towards Sugar Plum.

The demon in question stuck her tiny forked tongue out at him, and answered for Sunny, “She has been abandoned and left to be imprisoned in the stead of a man she thought loved her.” Sunny felt a new wave of tears and whimpered, hearing this concise summary of her relationship with Roland.

“ _What?”_ Bog felt his gorge rise with fury at the thought of such vile actions, observing Sunny’s agonised face, “How could such a thing come to pass?” 

He turned to look at Sugar Plum, “How could ye _allow_ yer charge to be put in harm’s way?” He accused her.

“I see you have _some_ knowledge in that pinecone you call a head,” the demon retorted, “For your _nosy_ information, she was not my charge at the time of occurrence!”

“Insolent little fiend! How dare ye speak to the king of this place in such a manner?!” Bog rose to his full height, looming over Sugar Plum.

She released Sunny and once more shifted to a more substantial form. However, this time, she chose a far more fearsome shape; her neck grew long and flexible, massive bat-like wings sprouted out of her back, and scales erupted all over her glittery flesh as she dropped onto all four clawed feet on the branch, shaking it with her sudden increase in weight. Plum’s face turned long and reptilian, her pupils narrowing to slits as she glared dangerously at Bog. 

“I have served many a king in my existence, and none as puny as you!” The glowing blue dragon spoke with a rough hiss, huffing icy smoke in Bog’s direction, engulfing Sunny with its long, sinewy tail. “You speak of insolence, yet treat _me_ with such disrespect!” the dragon opened its jaws wide, showing large, wicked fangs and curving teeth.

Bog refused to back down. He flared his wings wide apart, inhaling with a growl, expanding his chest and raising his plates and pauldrons as high as they would go in a full threat display. Holding his staff with two hands, and sliding his feet to a fighting stance, he crouched down. He would not be pushed around in this flippant manner again in his own domain.

Sunny whimpered again, her eyes overfilled with tears and terror as she watched the two formidable creatures stare each other down, both shaking in preparation to fight. _Because of me. Because of how stupid I’ve been._

The two adversaries heard it, and decided without speaking to forgo a battle at that moment in time, at a treetop far above the forest floor, with a potential fatality sitting between them. 

“This isn’t over!” Bog said with as much viciousness as he could manage while trying not to frighten Sunny any further.

“Yes, it is, Bog.” He wasn’t expecting sunny to speak and jerked his head in her direction.

Sunny stumbled to her feet, holding her elbows and looked determinedly between the two beings that were far stronger, far older, and far smarter than she was. Her face still wet from tears, and her eyes sore and swollen. She had pain in her knees, where they got scuffed by the sharp texture of the branch they all stood on, and her clothes felt moist from nervous sweat. 

None of that, though, compared to the profound ache in her chest, where her lungs felt full of water, and her heart beat unevenly, as though it was about to stop at any moment. 

Despite it all, she held her head high and made up her mind to stop being a weepy baby. She couldn’t allow any more harm to be done in her name. It was up to her to prevent any more trouble happening from her actions.

“Sugar Plum. You say I am your master. What does that mean?” She inquired.

The djinn immediately shrunk down again to speak to her master. “There are more rules to it, but in effect, you and I are bonded till the end of my service to you, when the last wish has been bestowed. I may not leave you, and If any harm comes to you, so it shall come to me.” Sugar Plum replied in a no-nonsense tone, her small shiny face serious.

“I understand. Why did you say I needed to recover?” Sunny vaguely remembered Plum’s earlier words, and wondered what they meant.

“By the nature of a contract between a djinn and a master, specific terms must be met. The djinn must owe the master their lives, and so they must pledge themselves to servitude until they are no longer needed. In the olden times, when there were more of my kind, kings and queens held such beings as myself in cages, and when released, it was deemed a life-saving situation.

“When you freed me, I owed you my life for the danger it posed you to do so. But you are very small and very young. Your life force was also shaken by the loss you suffered. I feared for you, and so I brought you here to replenish your reserves.” Sugar Plum’s voice turned soft and sad, and her eyes looked away from Sunny, seeing things that were not there.

“But why did ye have to come _here?”_ Bog said, startling the other two. He was listening very carefully to Sugar Plum’s explanations, retaining all the information for the time he would need it.

Sugar Plum focused on Bog, a small frown forming between her glittery eyebrows, “This young one was tricked into releasing a prisoner from the fairy dungeon. I knew the fairies of the field would turn the kingdom upside down to find the culprit responsible, the prisoner having a particular feud with the crown princess. “ 

She looked in the direction she and Sunny came from, “The princess is a dangerous one, she will not abate. I only hope we made it out of sight before she saw us. Sunny does not deserve her ire. It is not her fault she was fooled,” Sugar Plum looked down at Sunny then, and said with a voice that echoed unimaginable eons of pain, loss and suffering,

“It is my fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an interesting chapter to write about. I always knew Sugar Plum was more than simply a fairy, given all her differences. 
> 
> Uploaded the wrong chapter earlier, this is the correct one.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne is not sure what to do when a teenaged Bog Prince falls in love with her. 
> 
> Marsh is adorable and is SUPER into Shakespeare literature.

At first, Marianne didn’t fully comprehend what had happened to the young prince. But then he grabbed her hand and started _singing_ in a soft voice: 

_I found a love, for me,_

_Darling, just dive right in,_

_Follow my lead,_

_Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet,_

_I never knew you were the someone waiting for me,_

_What._

Marsh continued, his voice ringing across the fields and meadows, gaining volume while gripping Marianne’s hand as he rose to his feet, pursuing her. His followers, the goblins, were mesmerised, crates and bundles forgotten all around them. 

_‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love_

_Not knowing what it was_

_I will not give you up this time_

_Darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own_

_And in your eyes, you’re holding mine,_

Marianne snapped out of her shock, realising what this sudden change meant. She closed her gaping mouth as her body took over, not allowing herself to think of how _close_ she’d gotten to getting struck by the damned potion _. Again._

The young prince was still singing something about dancing and favourite songs, but she wasn’t listening anymore. She looked all around, scanning every shadow. Trying in vain to pull her hand out of the prince’s, she caught sight of horribly familiar wings disappearing into the darkness of the wild fields. 

‘Let go of me!’ She turned viciously to Marsh, snatching her hand back. 

He didn’t change expressions, his transfixed, awestruck face remaining the same as it was when she first noticed the toxic shimmer of the love potion poison him, but he did as she requested and dropped his hands. His mouth continued to move without a hitch, carrying on the tune, now becoming moderately deeper: 

_Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know,_

_She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I’ll share her home,_

_I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets,_

_To carry love, to carry children of our own,_

‘UGH!’ Marianne groaned and winced at the cringe-worthy thought that last declaration conjured and started to fly in the direction Roland went, sword held away from her and to the side. Marsh took off, closely following her while serenading beatifically, utterly unaware of his surroundings: 

_We are still kids, but we’re so in love,_

_Fightin’ against all odds,_

_I know we’ll be alright this time,_

_Darling, just hold my hand ,_

_Be my girl, I’ll be your man,_

_I see my future in your eyes,_

Marianne reached the spot she saw Roland last and began a desperate search for any kind of clue he was around. A glimpse of shining blonde hair, maybe even a pink glow from the love potion’s bottle. She saw little more than silhouettes; the moon was yet to rise high enough to provide much light. She couldn’t even hope to hear any rustling or movements coming from the tall grass, and swaying flower stems with that awful, _romantic_ , racket Marsh was making, still attempting to sidle up next to her and hold her hand: 

_Baby, I’m dancing in the dark, with you between my arms,_

_Barefoot on the grass, listenin’ to our favourite song,_

_When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful,_

_I don’t deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight,_

Over-wrought with tension, Marianne glanced around, hoping to find something, anything, at all that would give away the direction Roland had gone. But there was nothing to see in the dark, nothing to hear over the prince’s soulful, but beginning to creak, voice. 

_Baby, I’m dancing in the dark, with you between my arms,_

_Barefoot on the grass, we’re listenin’ to our favourite song,_

_I have faith in what I see,_

_Now I know I have met an angel in person,_

_And she looks perfect,_

_No, I don’t deserve this,_

_You look perfect tonight,_

Marsh finally, mercifully, finished his song with a slight croak, and Marianne suppressed another groan. The silence that followed was oppressing. Painfully aware that she would find nothing here by herself, and that Roland would have had more than enough time and distraction to either escape somewhere else or hide more effectively. There was no hope in finding him right now. 

Marianne reminded herself it was not the prince’s fault. 

_Deep breaths. DEEP, relaxing breaths._

Growing apprehension and disturbing thoughts swirling in her mind like a hornet’s nest did nothing to relax her. Marianne ground her teeth together as she flew back to the village with the prince in tow. It appeared once they left, the goblins began a shouting match with the castle guards that had followed the princess from her home. 

“Every! Body! Be! Quiet!” Marianne roared, her voice rising louder than any of the fairies and goblins in front of her, unable to contain herself any longer. Marsh hovered behind, expression unchanged, staring mortifyingly at her. 

They stood up straight as one, instinctively responding to her command, falling entirely silent. 

“What is happening here?” She demanded of both parties, one hand on her hip, the other holding her wickedly sharp blade threateningly, a murderous gleam in her eyes as she stayed poised in the air. The fact that a certain teenage goblin prince was looking at her as though she was moonlight incarnate did nothing to comfort the receptors of her ire. 

The goblins visibly relaxed, now that their prince was again within their sights and unharmed. One larger than the rest hurried to the prince’s side, trying to coax him down with a garbling language Marianne assumed was Goblin. 

The Captain of the Guard hurried equally fast to Marianne’s side, fluttering up to check that she was unscathed. 

He then explained the nature of the argument: neither goblins nor fairies knew if their sovereigns were safe, and both sides were shouting and demanding to reclaim their prince or princess. It was about to escalate to violence when Marianne and the Bog Prince returned. 

Captain Greenwood muttered quietly to her, but Marianne put a quick stop to the sulking explanation, snapping her fingers under his nose. She steeled herself to recount the current events. 

“Roland was here. He tried to love-dust me again, but the Bog Prince stopped him and got hit instead. And now he’s… blegh…in...ugh… _love_ with me.” Marianne could only just stop herself from gagging at the awful word, her face twisting into a grimace. 

Captain Greenwood’s eyes bugged out, and he looked like he was close to puking too. “He… Then… The prince is _WHAT_?” 

“Princess Marianne!” Marsh called to her, and she cringed at his tone. It seemed that the hulking goblin was, unsurprisingly, unable to talk any sense into him. The prince approached, looking up at her after having landed on the ground beneath. 

“Yesssss?” Marianne hissed, giving him a gimlet eye, stubbornly refusing to join him on the surface. 

“Please, maiden fair, join me in the Dark Forest, or allow me to join you in the court of Fairie!” The Bog Prince’s face was so earnest that Marianne almost smiled at his clumsy attempt with Shakespearean speech. Almost. 

“Oh, man… oh crap,” Marianne groaned, knocking a palm to her forehead. She couldn’t believe her luck. Not only all this insanity happened, but now she’s also laden with a lovesick puppy of a prince, and doubtlessly the Bog King himself will hear of this and come searching for his brother! What was she supposed to do?! 

_Think, you idiot, think!_

“Marsh, where is your brother now?” Marianne asked, deciding on a course of action. She knew the lovelorn, young prince would comply with whatever she wanted, but flinched internally at having to take advantage of him this way. 

“Oh, he’s gone to see what the blue comet was, then he will check on our mother and fortress!” The prince was so happy to give her an answer, he grinned widely, showing crooked teeth and sweet dimples. “He left me in charge to wrap up the raid.” 

“When is he expecting you back?” she inquired, descending, unsure how long she has to sort through this current mess, having made her mind to leave her other problems for later. She couldn’t afford to start a war with the King of the Goblins while her kingdom was in the middle of a crisis. 

“Hmm… I should have been back by now…” His young face creased for a bit, and Marianne was distracted by how the overlapping green-grey leaves on his head moved along with his facial expressions, before his brow cleared again, “But that’s fine! I found you, my love, and I can bring you home to meet him and my mother at the feast tonight, if you’d like!” 

Marianne looked away uncomfortably at his words, before noticing the goblins and fairies staring open-mouthed and gaping at the conversation happening in front of them. They looked from her to Marsh and back again as if the pair suddenly sprouted fish heads and were gurgling water. 

After what felt like years of holding her sword, she sheathed it at her side, uncurling her stiff, sore fingers from the sweaty grip. 

“Hoh, boy…” Marianne sighed, a headache blooming behind her eyes. 

_This is going to take a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun for me to write, and I hope you enjoyed it too :D
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!! More comments mean higher motivation...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog and Sunny make a plan. 
> 
> Sugar Plum is keeping secrets and no one seems to want to find out what they are.

“Yer fault?” Bog growled, “What d’ye mean  _ yer fault _ ?”

“Hold it right there!” Sunny interjected, realising Bog was about to blow a fuse, “Let her explain!” She peered at Sugar Plum, inspecting her.

“What do you mean,  _ your fault? _ “she asked, unaware she asked the same question as Bog in her confusion.

Sugar Plum sighed, “What do you know of my capture?” She spoke to Sunny, ignoring Bog.

“All I know is that you got imprisoned along with Ro… Ro…land,” Sunny managed to choke out the name. “… for conspiring with him…” her voice trailed off into silence as she caught sight of Sugar Plum’s expression. 

The djinn’s face was set in hard lines, her mouth twisted into a bitter smile, and her arms crossed in front of her.

“Oh… I see…” Sunny whispered.

“Let me get this clear, “Bog said, disbelievingly looking from the elf and the djinn. “Yer implying that this Roland fellow had a contract with ye and ye got nicked for following it?”

“Well…” Sugar Plum uncrossed her arms and looked uncomfortable. “There’s more to it than  _ just _ that…”

“Why didn’t ye escape when he got arrested?” Bog was like a dog with a bone.

“I… I couldn’t,” Plum stated simply. “He didn’t make his last wish.”

There was a long, tense silence.

Sunny was stumped, imagination running wild at Sugar Plum’s implication.

Sugar Plum was clearly not going to elaborate without Sunny requesting it.

And Bog, in the meantime, considered his options:

The first was, by far the simplest, and the trickiest. He could send Sunny back to the Fairyfields to face judgment and the consequences of her actions and risk the demon fighting him for it; a fight he was not sure he would win. He also felt reluctant at the thought of the tiny elf girl suffering uselessly for her misguided mistake.

Second, which was unacceptable, Bog could allow the two runaways to take refuge in his domain, and risk chaos and disruption happening from their presence. This option also endangered his subjects if the fairies ever come looking for them.

The third option seemed like the best chance he had to help Sunny without putting his goblins or family in harm’s way. He could allow Sunny and Sugar Plum safe passage through his lands to the other side of the border, close to where the Dark Valley lay. It was precarious, but Sunny, being with the djinn, should be safe enough. He would even provide them supplies from the Fortress. 

_ I will escort them to the border, and then Sunny will have a chance. She will wish herself a new life, and Sugar Plum will be someone else’s problem. _

Bog chose his words carefully before coughing to get the elf’s attention, “Sunny the elf, may we speak in private?” He looked at the tiny blue demon floating close by, suspicion written over his face.

“Uh, why?” Sunny followed the King’s eyes as he curled his lip at Sugar Plum. The djinn took the hint and rolled her eyes as she drifted slightly away, humming an unfamiliar tune under her breath.

“There are matters at hand to discuss, and ye need to make yer choice.” Bog looked back at Sunny, bending forward, lowering his voice. “Beyond my lands, on the eastern border, there is a place called the Dark Valley. The Valley is a sanctuary for magical creatures and wild beasts, but it will be a safe haven for ye and the djinn. The way there can be a perilous one, and ye will need to stay strong, but as long as the d… _ Sugar Plum _ … is with ye, she will protect ye. But… As long as she is with ye, I cannot allow ye to stay here, and neither will I send ye back to the fairies to face certain punishment.” 

Sunny gulped at the King’s stark statement. She hadn’t considered any of this, and was suddenly afraid. Would she really never be able to go back to the Fairyfields? 

“But… I don’t know anywhere other than the fields! I… “Sunny started to panic before remembering that just earlier that evening, she had planned to do exactly that. Leave the fields of flowers and sunshine and loneliness, and head towards the west, in the direction of the coastal kingdom of the Fairyseas. Maybe it would be better to simply go the other way, in case Roland had followed the original plan and travelled westwards. Sunny never wanted to see him again, and the heartbreak she had felt before was turning quickly to anger. Using this as an improvement to steel herself, she said to the Bog King, “I agree. We can’t stay here and risk your kingdom’s safety, and there is nowhere else we could go.” 

Sunny looked at Sugar Plum then, catching the other’s eye and invited her to join the conversation with a wave of her hand. “Sugar Plum, Bog said that east of the Forest there is a land called the Dark Valley, and there we might find sanctuary. Will you go there with me?”

Sugar Plum rolled her sparkly eyes dramatically. “As if I could refuse! I must follow where you go, dear little elf.” She then turned to Bog, bemused. “I must say, I am surprised at your benevolence. The reputation of the Bog King is ruthless indeed, and I expected more reticence from you.” She then cocked her head to the side and stared wordlessly and unnervingly at him. Her words, while they haven’t formed a question, sounded demanding.

“I… I… have a little brother,” he muttered, reeling from a sudden shift in the air around him. The demon’s eyes seemed to grow bigger in her face, and her skin rippled as though a dangerous beast lay beneath the surface.

“Oh?…” Sugar Plum prompted softly.

But Bog was tired of the intense looks the djinn was giving him, and a hurried glance at the canopy of the forest told him the moon had risen quicker than he expected. He had wasted too much time on this, and now he felt alarmed, wishing to make sure his little brother had made it home safely.

“I have no more time for these useless questions!” he snapped with a slight growl, his pauldrons rattling and his wings shuddering, “Come along with me, and I will provide ye a guide and supplies, or I will pick ye up myself and throw ye out of my forest!”

Sunny started at the sudden change in tone, but she had peeked beyond the King’s bravado, and seen his gentler side. Such a powerful, savage creature, folding himself as small as he could so he could speak to a frightened, heartbroken elf. It was hard fitting those two images into one person, but it was too late for Sunny to feel afraid of him. Harsh words and a vicious expression could only go so far. The King’s cornflower blue eyes had shown her kindness and concern, and she would not be so quick to forget it.

“We’ll come with you, your majesty.” Sunny gave a small curtsy, wanting to show him every bit of manners and courtesy she’d learned from working at the fairy castle. “Thank you for everything,” she added, putting all her heart into the words.

Bog was taken aback at this gesture, and scoffed in return, shrugging his shoulders and looking away.

“We’d better be off then,” he said gruffly, motioning toward the edge of the branch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a bit weak, but it gets better from here, I promise!!
> 
> Can't wait for next Saturday to post chapter 10... :D
> 
> Lemme know what you think, and if you have any questions. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne visits the place she always wanted to, and discovers a few other interesting things.
> 
> The Fairy King is more of a badass than we thought.

Marianne flew between the trees in the Dark Forest with the Bog Prince and the other goblins on their dragonfly steeds, trying not to get distracted by how giddy she felt by the fact _she_ _was in the Dark Forest!_ In her dreams, she still felt the terror of the day she found out about Roland’s infidelity and crashed through the thick trees, ending up beyond the border. She’d long let go of that fear. The goblins that reached for her on that day didn’t harm her, and they were only doing their job. Marianne got that; how doing your job made you into a scary monster that repelled others, even if you didn’t wish to play that part.

She trailed behind Marsh, committing everything to memory. He threw ecstatic glances at her every time he turned around, and it made her feel guilty about how she had acted. The Bog Prince wasn’t in control. He couldn’t choose clearly for himself. But Marianne also knew that if she were to return to the Fairyfields with Marsh in tow, she would incur the wrath of the Bog King, and that was not a prospect she desired.

She’d glimpsed him once before, when she was eight years old. The Bog King came to the Fairy Queen and Princess’ funeral. He stayed high in the shadowy branches of one of the few trees the FairyFields boasted, with his entourage of a few hobgoblins riding on dragonflies. Marianne was too young and overwhelmed to appreciate what happened around her on that day. Still, she recalled seeing a flash of golden light from the amber in his sceptre, and she remembered seeing nothing else from the treetop that day. 

Her mother and sister’s funeral passed in a blur, but Marianne didn’t cry. Not a tear fell, until later that night when her father carried her to bed, and without a word patted her on the head before leaving. He didn’t kiss her goodbye, or say goodnight; he just left. The tears came, and it felt like years before they stopped.

They flew for a time, the full moon lazily crawling across the sky as the group manoeuvred up and under strange plants, around carnivorous flowers, and over odd sentient mushrooms to reach the heart of the forest. And every minute of it was _fascinating._ Wildly different flora and fauna attacked her with new scents and sights, enticing a strangely foreign excitement in her. The fairy princess badly wished to explore the surroundings and marvelled at the way some of the roots peeking under the moss floor glowed with bioluminescence in the moonlight. She wondered how such roots would look like in an underground cave, and whether she would ever get a chance to see such a magical sight.

_Not bloody likely, after this complete disaster of a night._

The princess wondered if the Bog King would attack her kingdom for what happened to his brother. She hoped there was some kind of antidote to Marsh’s affliction, and a fresh wave of resentment passed over her as she thought of Sugar Plum.

The magical fairy was still on the loose, and who knew where she had gotten to by now? Marianne worried her lower lip at how she would have to request permission from the Bog King for his help to search the forest for the wayward creature.

“Hey, Marsh?” Marianne called, meaning to ask just that, and he responded in a flash, there, by her side trying to reach her and sing again. But she was having none of it. “No, no, no, this is only the potion’s effects!” she pleaded with him, as he spun in tight circles under and above her. “It’s not real, you know!” 

“But it _feels_ so, so real!” Marsh said happily, “Marry me, Marianne! Live with me in this forest!” He went off again in song, 

_We are still kids, but we’re so in love_

_Fightin’ against all odds_

_I know we’ll be alright this time_

_Darling, just hold my hand_

_Be my girl, I’ll be your man_

_I see my future in your eyes_

The goblins accompanying them snickered, but hastily quieted down under Marianne’s wilting glare. She sighed and muttered more to herself than anyone else, “Well, no, I guess you wouldn’t know…” Marianne tried one more time to capture the young prince’s attention. “Marsh, please, just quit it already!” 

The Bog Prince immediately stopped singing and hovered in front of her expectantly. Marianne was unprepared for this development and crashed into him, making them both fall out of the air, a short drop before their wings caught them again. 

“Ow!” Marianne exclaimed, and started to scold Marsh about blocking people while they were flying and how dangerous that was, but fell silent as she noticed a large clearing looming ahead. There was a deep gorge in the ground, and a slight fog was curling up and out of it. A single massive structure rose like a gigantic, sharply edged thumb from the centre of the gorge, connected by a single root-bound earth bridge. A gaping fox skull served as the entrance to the Fortress, and despite herself, Marianne shuddered at the sight of all those sharp, pointed teeth. The Fortress itself was carved out of a huge hollowed tree covered in moss, and under the bridge’s level, it continued going far, far down to the bottom of the canyon, looking as though it could contain hundreds, maybe thousands of goblins.

It was a mighty thing to regard, and Marianne felt that it fitted for one such as the Bog King to have a home like this one; Imposing, easily defendable, and could hold his people safely within its walls. Marianne felt all the more respect for the Bog King in this choice of residence and began feeling a fluttering excitement rise in her chest, anticipation growing at the thought of meeting with the mysterious ruler.

“Princess Marianne of the Fairyfields.” Marsh surprised her with his formal speech and mid-air bow. “Please, be the first field fairy in many a generation to be welcomed to the Dark Forest Fortress, Ancestral Seat of the Dryads and Goblins, the Green Castle, and my home.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my mother!” he continued, sounding much more like himself after dropping the formalities, with such eagerness in his voice it made Marianne reluctantly smile. His dimples deepened as he returned the smile with a broad grin.

\--

Dread pooled in her stomach when she landed with the Bog Prince in the clearing before the bridge to the Fortress. The gaping, incredulous stares the Forest inhabitants gave Marianne made her drop a hand to the pommel of her sword. Her skin itched, fully aware of how much attention focused in her direction, eyes scanning for any danger or imminent signs of attack. As a trained warrior, she was painfully aware of how exposed she was, but there was hardly anything she could do about it.

There was a little comfort found in the fact their arrival came with all the goods the foray provided from her lands, encouraging deafening whoops and cheers from the forest-dwellers after their momentary surprise. The presence of the spoils appeared to overcome the shock of the uninvited guest’s presence as they rushed the raiding party. Marsh laughed out loud as the smaller goblins crowded him, and the bigger ones thumped him on the back with what Marianne considered excessive force. He didn’t seem to mind the attention, merely sharing the goblins’ happiness as though it was his own.

The fairy princess was mostly forgotten, except for the constant flickers of the prince’s eyes in her direction. He appeared to be less noisy with the effects of the love potion, ever since she had asked him to be quiet.

Marianne took a moment to think about the potion, and how it looked as though it revealed and exaggerated the way one would have been naturally in love; Marsh, by what she had already learned of him, was a happy kid. He had a charismatic smile and a friendly demeanour, and was easy to like. Under the potion’s influence, he tended to sprout a strangely modified Shakespearean speech and seek lots of physical connection, which made Marianne wonder about the goblin educational system as well as familiar affection.

Standing on the outskirts, letting the heaving crowd flow towards the Green Castle, she vaguely considered what else was being taught in the Dark Forest, a topic she would never have contemplated before. Lost in her thoughts, she let her guard lapse and didn’t notice the prince and a short, squat goblin with a crown of flat grey stones and a mane of red hair walk up to her until she heard Marsh’s wings rasp. Marianne tensed again, watching the two figures nearing. The princess straightened up to the royal posture she was accustomed to, and waited with barely concealed impatience for the goblins to reach her.

_This talk could be tricky._

“Princess Marianne, I’d like you to meet my mother, Gri-” Marsh began the introductions, before being shoved to the side.

“-Griselda! I’m so happy to meet you!” The Queen Mother seemed not to heed the fact her young son had stumbled when she pushed forward to grab Marianne’s hands in her own three-fingered grip. The little Goblin pulled the princess down by her hands to whisper loudly, “Do you have a sweetheart?” before withdrawing back to smile smugly at her.

Marianne risked a glance at the young prince, furiously thinking what she could conceivably say to get out of the uncomfortable situation she was in, but he had already walked away. The traitor. This situation seemed even more dangerous than any physical attack could be. The princess could tell the older goblin queen was not used to anyone getting in her way, and the target had been chosen. Right now, her small dark brown eyes focused on Marianne with a determined intent.

_Well, I hardly have a choice here. Suck it up, Marianne._

“I… uh… I am honoured to meet you, Queen Griselda.” Marianne evaded the question by giving a small bow over their joined hands.

Raucous calls from the raiding party, and the other goblins momentarily distracted Griselda from her prey, and the Goblin dropped her hands. Marianne saw Marsh moving from group to group, leaning down to speak quietly to them in Goblin, all while throwing her bright-eyed looks and smiles.

“Uh, oh,” she said, “Oh, no, what is he saying to them?” She looked again to Griselda, pleading.

But Griselda was not paying attention to the princess anymore. Her eyes widened as she eavesdropped to the furtive conversations her son was having. Hands tightened on Marianne’s alerting her to the return of the Goblin’s attention.

“He… He’s telling them how he means to marry you.” A slow, self-satisfied smile was forming on her wide, amphibian lips.

\-----

The captain of the guards was very unhappy about what he was about to do.

The Fairy King would not be pleased, in the least, of the latest developments, and Greenwood knew it would all come down to him delivering the unwelcome news.

The king paced up and down the throne room, giving out curt instructions and snappy retorts to the guests from the cancelled party.

It was deemed unsafe, under the current threat, for the crowd to disperse, and at the moment, many were scattered between the ballroom and throne room, waiting for word about their fate. The members of nobility that had travelled from afar to reach the Fairyfields have been shown to sleep chambers in the castle for the night. However, the ones living around the castle were forced to wait upon any updates regarding the situation. A snack and refreshment table had been set up, and warm petal blankets were handed out, providing basic needs for the stranded guests.

Greenwood neared the king, and felt pressure building in his chest as King Dagda’s sharp, green eyes landed on him.

“Where is my daughter, Captain?” the king asked, wasting no time with his question.

“Your majesty.” The captain kneeled in front of the king. He took a deep breath and decided to get it all out at once. “The princess… The princess is currently in the Dark Forest, escorting a party of goblins and the Bog Prince, wherein she will ask permission to search the forest for the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

The king closed his eyes momentarily, taking in a deep breath, unsure what to say first. He opened his eyes and focused his intense emerald gaze on Greenwood.

“You are telling me… My only daughter, Crown Princess Marianne of the Fairyfields, sole heir to my throne, and THE ONE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE GUARDING-” he started slow and deliberate, before increasing his volume and looming over the kneeling captain, fists clenched at his side, face turning puce red, “-IS IN THE CARE OF GOBLINS, BY HERSELF?”

“Well… She… Her highness gave us strict instructions to search the fields…” the captain began stammering, “Seeing as Roland was able to get close enough again-”

“What is this about Roland?” the king interrupted,

“He… He appears to have gotten close enough to the princess to use the love potion an-”

“ _He used the potion on my daughter_?”

“No, my lord, he got close, but the Bog Prince-”

“The Bog _Prince?”_

“Y…yes, sire, the prince, got in the way and - “

“Stars above… Don’t tell me…” King Dagda covered his eyes with a hand as his imagination ran wild.

“I’m afraid so, sire. The Bog Prince is in love with Princess Marianne.” The captain hung his head, ashamed to admit he got to the heir too late to protect her, and she had to rely on _goblins_ to keep her safe. The disgrace ran deep and wretched, like a rusty dagger in his stomach.

The fairy king started pacing again. His hands were in constant motion at his sides. He waved them around, clenched them, rubbed his face, and at last, he settled them crossed together under his portly belly.

“We must get her back, then,” he declared to the room. All eyes, guards and guests, fairies and elves, rested on the king. A shudder ran through them at the tone in the king’s voice that said, _by any means necessary._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! I tried to make the visuals as vivid as I could, but after a million times, I'm sure I brought nothing original to the table XD
> 
> We are SO close to the destined meeting... Just be patient till the next chapter...


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunny and Bog get to the Hidden Valley, Marianne gets pulled around by an excited Griselda, and at the end, the big meeting!!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy!

The last tree cleared from the horizon, opening the scenery to the vast expense of the night’s sky. Plush, silvery clouds dotted the heavens as the odd trio slowed their flight. Sunny was awed, never having seen such a sight like the one before her.

With the large, looming trees at her back, the light of the moon that shone undisturbed on the sizeable valley before them was shockingly illuminating.

It was a crater; Sunny vaguely recognised the perfect roundness of the valley as that from the images in the textbooks from her childhood. A lake, smooth as glass, rested in the centre of it, reflecting the round, plump moon. Within the lake, there stood a tall, misshapen crystalline boulder, gleaming with a soft inner light, resembling a beacon in the dark.

All around the curving walls of the valley, there were small formations of pools, and a faintly scented sulphuric steam curled above them. Sunny saw some of the closer pools shuddering with underwater activity, and on the other side of the crater, there were larger pools occupied by bigger creatures. She couldn’t put a name to all of them, but she could recognise those with an indistinct reptilian appearance, making a shiver pass over her skin with apprehension.

Sunny dismounted off Sugar Plum’s transformed dragonfly body, and the djinn returned to her original shape, coming to hover by Sunny’s side.

Bog shifted, and the rattle of his wings made Sunny look up at her new, unlikely friend. He had a small, distant smile on his face, and it was the first expression Sunny saw on him that wasn’t scowling, snarling, or aloofness. It was curious to see how that small change transformed the Bog King’s harsh, sharp features into ones more fitting to his kind heart.

“I used to come here as a young lad,” Bog spoke softly, as though unwilling to break the spell of the memories flooding him, “This place… is something else.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sunny said, matching his nostalgic tone, her gaze sweeping the crags and dips in the naturally formed rockface, catching a glimpse of all sorts of fauna and flora.

“There are some plants that grow exclusively in the Valley, and we of the forest come here frequently to harvest them. This place is a centre of peace and healing. You will not get attacked here, so long as you don’t provoke the creatures that came here to rest.”

“How come the fairies of the field don’t know about this place?” Sunny asked, still mesmerised by the vitally glowing crater, a sense of tranquillity descending upon her.

“It’s a secret of the Dark Lands. The beasts and creatures that come here are the denizens of our realms to protect and maintain.” Bog swept a long, scaly arm, across the horizon. “This Valley lies in the epicentre, serving as a place of untainted, neutral soil. No war may come upon this sacred ground.”

“Thank you,” she told him from the bottom of her heart, touched that he allowed her to come here, a virtual stranger. He had no reason to trust her with his secret. “For… all you’ve done today. For sharing this with me.”

Bog cleared his throat, “It’s nothing. I… I simply didn’t want you to stay in my forest, with that Sugar Plum with you.” He shrugged, the plates of his pauldrons rising slightly with the motion, and rattled his wings. Then, he turned to her, looking seriously down his long, pointy nose. “This is temporary, Sunny. You realise that, don’t you?”

She sighed, taking his meaning. This was a place for her to recover from releasing Sugar Plum. Regain her strength and’ life force’ as Plum called it. She would never be allowed to remain here for a prolonged time. At some point, she will have to move on.

“I’m aware,” Sunny said, looking exhausted.

“Stay safe, Sunny.” Bog said, as his wings caught him, holding his staff with one hand. The little elf turned and gave him a final, worn-out curtsy as he backed away.

“Goodbye, Bog King,” was all she said, watching him fly away, and wondering,

_ So, what now? _

\------------

Marianne executed a basic escape tactic from the stifling kitchen, by clinging to the wall and inching bit by bit to the door, before slipping into the grand hall that served as the castle’s dining space. There was a large fireplace on the far side, looking as though a whole squirrel could roast in it. To her left, the glass made wall had spread with tiny cracks that formed a giant spiderweb pattern, letting in the waxing moonlight.

A single slab of wood served as a table dominated the room, laying across it, in a jagged rectangular shape. The inner core of the tree it was carved from was still visible, forming a dark to light pattern along the width. At least forty oddly shaped chairs of ranging in size and height surrounded the table, except for the three evenly dispersed bone-crafted seats, one on each far side and one in the middle. Whittled-bark plates and cups of all different sizes piled on it; the goblins were fully prepared for their feast and celebrations tonight.

Wrung out and mentally fatigued from the questionings and persistent efforts to engage her, she wandered the length of the room to the window wall, taking a deep breath and closing her weary eyes for a moment. Marianne leaned her aching head on the cool glass and tried to get her bearings again after the hurricane of emotions she had been through that night. She was ill-prepared to the onslaught that was the Queen Mother’s enthusiasm.

Marianne had only been in the castle for a short time, and already she was thoroughly fed up with the surprisingly friendly goblins that made up the Queen’s entourage. Once the old goblin had heard her son’s low whispers, nothing the princess said could bring reason or logic to her ears. She took it in stride that the young prince had been love-dusted, and simply stated that she was old enough and wise enough to know silly, dramatic things like love-potions always sorted themselves out in the end. And in the case it  _ didn’t,  _ Marianne seemed like a positively  _ lovely  _ match for her Marsh!

She completely ignored Marianne’s weak objections and refusals for a wedding.

_ This is worse than I could have ever thought it would be. How did I end up getting roped into this? _

Unfortunately, Marianne knew precisely how. She needed the goblins, and her kingdom’s, the _ world’s  _ safety was more important than any inconvenience she suffered at the moment. Of course, there was absolutely no way the princess would agree to marriage. Not with Marsh, not with anyone at all; the part of her that could stand to think of such things died miserably long ago, and she was not going to marry a teenager that reminded her of her  _ sister  _ of all blasted people.

Sighing deeply, she wondered where the Bog King was. The goblins didn’t seem particularly worried about his wellbeing, despite the fact he disappeared in the direction of a ruthless magical being that was potentially extremely dangerous. Now and then, when touring the fortress with Griselda, she saw the goblins casting fleeting glances at the big tree that stood proud and ashy-white behind the pelvic-bone throne that resided in the throne room. Each time she caught a goblin looking at it, they would hurriedly look away from the tree, but any tension they had before had been dismissed.

Another thing that was exceptional about the white tree was that it seemed to shift imperceptibly the longer she stared. The trees Marianne knew grew slowly, but this one was different. It sported dense, spindly limbs that held no leaves at all, even in the height of summertime, but it was  _ alive.  _ Marianne felt something vital and living when she dared touch it, almost like a pulse or an intake of breath. It startled her enough to refuse to lay a hand on it again. She could not identify the type of it at all, no matter how much she scanned her extensive knowledge of plant life. Nothing about the tree was familiar.

Griselda was of no use when asked of the white tree, merely saying, “Oh, that old thing? My husband’s family, rest his soul, brought it from their homeland when they came to this country. Pretty, isn’t it?” and ignored any further questions Marianne posed her following the statement, dragging Marianne in the direction of the kitchens. The feast and dozens of dishes were in the process of being prepared, along with twenty other goblins scampering to and fro, sometimes speaking in a language she understood, and sometimes in the growly, hoarse tongue of Goblin.

It was rather pretty, Marianne thought. The bark was smooth, its texture almost soft, and the branches ended in tiny nubs, like miniature fists. All over the trunk, fascinating patterns overlapped each other, reminding her of the prince’s crown of leaves. They were not precisely the same, being narrower and more jagged at their edges, but it  _ was,  _ in fact, beautiful and mesmerising to observe. Each ‘leaf’ was unique, and the pattern was asymmetrical, capturing the princess’s eye and making her want to examine each layer individually.

Resigning herself to her fate, she waited for someone to find her by the glass wall, occasionally spreading and flaring her wings to let off the tension and nervous energy that was eating her alive.

\-------------

Bog wasn’t sure how he got roped into helping a strange elf and her pet demon.

As he flew back to his home in the Green Castle, he reviewed his actions from the moment he landed on the tree branch as though from a distance.

Never in his life had he ever felt such instant compassion for another creature, with the sole exception of the day his brother was born. The months following the old king’s death and the new king’s reign were a blur to Bog. The two events that stood out were the fairy funeral he attended, and the day Marsh came into his life.

Fourteen years old, with a crown he was not ready for, he waited around the castle for the former Queen to bring forth the new heir. He heard the screams, and cringed with each one, wishing to take flight and go far away from the sounds of agony. But Bog was utterly terrified of the chance he would lose his mother after the slow, tortured death of his father, and couldn’t bring himself to leave her proximity.

It felt like years, but at one point, the screaming stopped. Bog sat up from his tormented slouch on the throne, and listened carefully for the return of his mother’s voice. When the silence continued, Bog’s heart raced, and he feared the worst. His claws made deeply carved grooves on the armrests of the throne, and his throat closed shut with heartbreak.

Before he could gather strength to rise to face his worst fear, a new sound pierced the oppressing silence. An infant’s wail rose high and pure, shattering the bonds that held Bog in place, and he heard his mother’s laughter, low and grating and absolutely  _ beautiful. _

Bog would never admit it, but at the distraction the combined racket his mother and new sibling made, with the flurry of actions and attention directed at the other royals, he covered his face with his hands and wept, for a good long while.

Remembering the loud cheering that told him the safe arrival of the looting party, Bog knew the goblins and the young prince were home safe, and it allowed him the breadth of comfort to leave after collecting a few essential items for the elf and fly with her to the Valley. He heard some exclamations about a wedding following the exhortation, but didn’t pay it much mind. It wasn’t unusual of goblins to find mates during the Summer Sweep festivities.

Now, he was returning home, hoping he had done well by showing two potentially dangerous creatures to the Hidden Valley.

\-------

“Marianne!”

Sighing again at the sound of her name called by the now familiar voice, she turned to see the Bog Prince enter the dining hall, looking panicked and alarmed until he caught sight of her moonlit shape by the window wall. She had unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself, and being called upon reminded her she is the representative of the Fairyfields. She straightened up her spine, resuming a stiff posture as Marsh neared. Before he could reach her, a strong buzzing sound distracted them both, and with a quick flash of golden light, the Bog King landed in front of his brother, blocking him from view from the fairy he took as a threat.

“Marsh,” Marianne heard his voice, deep and rough with the maturity his brother lacked. His features were also stronger, sharper, more angular. The king’s eyes were the same shocking blue as the prince’s, but they didn’t make her reel inside with the memory of Dawn’s tiny pink face. Instead, they turned her stomach to a cage of butterflies, making Marianne swallow hard when they set their piercing gaze on her.

_ What the devil am I doing? I am the Crown Princess of the Fairyfields! I do not cower, nor do I shrink away from any fairy, goblin or beast! Toughen up, Marianne, and grow a pair! _

The mental pep talk melted Marianne’s nerves. She hoisted herself up even straighter, feeling her spine click with the effort, the familiar weight of her hidden knives giving her courage, just as her wings rising made her appear larger than even the Bog King in their span.

“What is this fairy doing here, Marsh?” he said, his eyes unmoving from hers, but he tilted his head to the side, gesturing to the prince to answer. Marianne’s brows dropped low on her eyes, indignant of the fact he wasn’t bothering to even speak to her.

_ Rude!  _

Marsh opened his mouth to speak, but Marianne beat him to it. “I am Princess Marianne. I come here to speak with you, Bog King.” she nodded her head in a tiny bow while still locking her eyes on his, refusing to back down.

“I asked my brother, and not you,  _ princess,”  _ he replied, hissing the last words as though it were an insult, eyes narrowing to slits.

“Uh, Bog, I need to talk to y-,” Marsh started, but Marianne had bristled and overspoke him again.

“Do not talk as though I am a silly, vapid little girl,” she started, her wings stretching even higher above her, shuddering with rising rage. How dare he speak to her that way?

"Yer trespassing on my lands, and have come into my castle uninvited. I am King here, and I say, _go_." The Bog King snarled with a tone that bespoke no reconsideration. He turned his staff, similarly crafted, but longer, more ornate than Marsh’s with a larger golden yellow gem at its head, to point in her direction, and took a menacing step towards her. His dragonfly wings rose around him in an X shape formation, and the king's pauldrons expanded, showing her all signs of an oncoming fight.

Marianne didn’t take threats lightly. She withdrew her sword, settling the familiar, comforting weight in her hands. She gave her shoulders a roll and twirled the blade on her fingers expertly, showing her would-be opponent just whom he was facing. He retaliated by cracking his neck loudly to the side, sliding his feet into a well-practised crouch. The staff held in a nonchalant one-handed position, his free hand curled the fingers into the palm, long claws showing his natural lethality.

“I do not wish to fight you, Bog King, but my business calls me to this forest,” Marianne began, attempting to sound less eager for the release of battle and violence. This was sure to be an exciting match.

“Neither do I _ , princess _ , but _ my  _ business is my own, and I have nothing for ye here,” he replied growling, but his voice echoed with the same hollow lie, and she thought she saw a glimmer of anticipation in his blue eyes as he took in her skilful posture.

She lowered her head, looking at the king under her eyelashes, processing the tiny shifts in the movements of his plates and armour, marking points of weakness. Granted, there were only a few, but those would be enough to down him if she were to be quick enough. He had a tiny twitch in his cheek, as though he couldn’t decide whether to smile or snarl.

Behind him, she saw the prince look utterly distraught. He seemed torn between the two of them, his hands wringing. She had enough shame in her to feel guilt for her part in his agitation, but knew this was one of the best-case possibilities.

The Bog King, ruler over the goblins and lands of the Dark Forest, would have never agreed to simply sit calmly down and listen to what she had to say. It was always going to come to this, sooner or later. And in Marianne’s opinion, she had a crappy enough a night to wish for sooner. It would be a relief to allow the emotional turmoil within out in a battle with a worthy opponent.

She allowed herself to curl a corner of her mouth in an inviting smile, taunting him to make the first move.

He accepted the challenge, and with a grunt, he exploded in her direction, wings propelling him faster than she’d thought. It was not beyond Marianne’s ability, but it very nearly pushed her to the limit to block the downwards sweep of his staff, the weapons clashing and causing a sharp screech of abused metal.

She sneered, and using her wings, she lifted herself to the air, shoving her face into his to bare her teeth in clear menace. He narrowed his eyes and returned the gesture, showing the jaggedly sharp teeth of a predator. They pushed apart, and she returned to the ground as he stumbled back a step. Marianne took the minute chance and spun on her toes, using the momentum to cast a powerful side-thrust, which was blocked immediately by the metal wrought staff. She took a moment’s satisfaction with the breath the king released in his effort to thwart her strike, and his soft, reluctant huff of approval. 

They clashed and their weapons collided together for some time. The heat of the battle made time lose meaning as they both took to the air, and dove again, seeming harmonised in their skill. The princess and the king were well matched, and while their techniques were different in their style, it was clear that they had begun to reluctantly relish the fight, exchanging banter, mild insults and small gestures of bravado.

Marianne would spin and twirl with a few beats of her wings as she swung the fairy-made blade, laughing negligently. The king would whirl his goblin-crafted staff, looking down his nose at her with a tight smile on his thin lips, rattling wings and shoulder plates in a taunting display of his physical superiority. They met again in the middle as she blocked his overhand strike, face close together, the gold and blue of their eyes glinting intensely before once more flitting backwards to put space between them.

However, the frantic protests of the young prince were soon making themselves known.

The king spared his brother a glance of confusion, and Marianne pressed her advantage at his distraction, seeking to disarm him and  _ make  _ him listen to her request. She kicked off the wall of the castle, boosting the speed of her wings and directing the full sweep of her sword for the Bog King’s thin midsection.

But the king looked back too quickly, and as he raised his staff to meet her sword, a shape flew in between them, arms raised by his sides, blocking the combatants’ view of each other.

It was too late to stop the swing of their weapons, and for the second time that evening, the Bog Prince dove recklessly in front of Marianne, taking a blow meant for her. The staff struck with a heart-stopping crack, and the sword had cut with a sickening crunch.

Marsh had enough of being ignored, and he chose more drastic measures to make his brother and his love listen.

Both of Marianne’s and the Bog King’s weapons fell to the ground with a loud metallic bang, and the two royals cried out in horror at the prince’s blood slowly spreading on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me!! It was inevitable and I couldn't stop it from happening. 
> 
> It gets better from here!
> 
> Well... Sort of...


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog is confused, Marianne is confused, Marsh is hurt, and Roland is..... SOMETHING, I guess?
> 
> How will the rest of the night go, I wonder???

“NO! No, no, no, no!”

Bog landed heavily, kneeling at his brother’s side. He pulled him across his lap, pressing a large hand over the slice in Marsh’s side. His own strike had hit home, but did not do nearly as much damage as the flat blade. Blood flowed freely from where the sword had slid neatly between two of Marsh’s scales at the side of his chest. The angle the fairy had swung the sword and the way Marsh moved in front of her put him in the perfect position for it to hit the skin under the armoured plating.

Concentrating on stopping the flow was of the utmost importance as Bog put pressure on the scales, pressing them together to create a seal. He was aware of the fairy throwing her sword away to the side, as though disgusted by the damage it had wrought. She fell to her knees on Marsh’s other side, breathing heavily.

He too, was panting from the exertion of their match, but nothing mattered more than the boy laying half on his lap, half on the floor, bleeding profusely with the milky clear, red-streaked blood of their kind, his young face contorted in pain.

“MARSH!” Bog shouted, cradling the boy’s face in one hand, while the other sought to staunch the seeping blood. The fairy cried out as well, looking distressed, and her hands shook as she reached the prince. Bog snarled viciously, pulling his brother away from her hands. The princess leaned back, her eyes wide with fear, her pale face even whiter than before, all the colour from their battle leached.

It was _her_ fault. She had come here, to Bog’s realm, uninvited and unwanted. She caused chaos and disruption, and now, Bog’s little brother was injured. His life’s blood leaking onto the floor. She had no right to look so... distraught.

However, Bog didn’t expect Marsh’s hand to rise and reach for the fairy princess, nor for him to call her name.

“Bog, don’t…” Marsh spoke weakly, his eyes opening, “Marianne...” he continued, turning his head to look at the princess.

“Marsh, no, stay still,” she told him, frowning, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists in her lap, as the prince obeyed her. 

Bog was baffled at the interaction, but still, he shouted for the goblin healers to come. Knowing most of his people were busy all around the castle and the grounds preparing for the upcoming celebrations, it was unlikely someone would hear him any time soon. 

The princess rose and backed away. “I’ll get Griselda!” she called before sprinting towards the kitchens. How she even knew who his mother was, and where she would be, Bog had no idea.

The blood flow refused to slow down, and Marsh stirred, attempting to get up and follow after the princess.

“I… have to go after her,” he told his elder brother, eyes begging him to understand. Bog didn’t and held on tightly.

“Ye can’t,” he told him. “Yer hurt, and it’s _her fault,_ ” Bog said, putting a savage emphasis on the last words, grinding his teeth.

“No, it’s not,” Marsh said, his voice still weak, but he was coming to full consciousness again, grimacing at the pain. “I jumped in front of her. I love her, Bog,”

“What?”

“I love her.”

“No, seriously, Marsh. What?”

“I am in love with Marianne.”

“Really? _A fairy princess?”_ Bod asked him again, utterly disbelieving. 

Marsh sighed and tried to get up, recoiling as the motion slid his scaled body out from under his brother’s grasp, sending another gush of blood over Bog’s hand as he grabbed his younger brother to press the scales back over the injury. The prince reclined back, his eyes looking at the ceiling as he told Bog how he fell in love with the Crown Princess of the Fairyfields.

“I first saw the princess a little after you left. She touched down, Brother, looking like a warrior goddess... her sword glinting silver in the moonlight, and her golden eyes spitting fire at us…” Marsh began with a speech that made Bog flinch. Where in the world had he learned to talk like that?

“Uh…”

“She was so beautiful… Then, the male fairy came and tried to attack her, and I saved her.” he looked to Bog, beaming through the pain. “I saved her, Bog!”

Bog wasn’t sure what to reply to this. He never thought his brother was so shallow as to fall in love just by how someone looked. This situation was spiralling wildly out of control.

_What the devil am I to do now? I can’t just send her away, can I?_

_Can I?_

“MY PRECIOUS BOY!”

Saved by his mother’s panicked shout, Bog turned his head in time to see the short goblin run across the length of the room, and a flood of relief swept over him, dampened only slightly by the sight of the fairy following closely behind her.

Griselda rushed over and bent down to examine her son’s wounds. With her there, Bog felt brave enough to go over Marsh’s injuries too.

The most obvious one would be the slice from the sword at the boy’s left side, but Griselda had directed her attention to the cracked right pauldron, which will need to be taped or stapled together to mend. She moved her gaze lower down his arm, that rested at an odd angle, obviously broken. With her three-fingered hand, she hovered over it, muttering curses under her breath.

Still attempting to reach his uninjured hand to the princess, Marsh huffed a muffled pained groan, and the fairy he sought came nearer, not yet within arm’s reach of Bog’s claws. She was wary, but looked willing enough to help his brother. Bog decided to allow her presence, solely for the sake of the prince’s comfort.

He didn’t know if she even returned the prince’s feelings, and whether _those_ feelings were genuine and sincere. Bog had much less faith in the abstract, slippery, useless idea of romance and _love._ But sadly, his brother was raised with their mother’s stories to fill his mind full of the same notions Bog despised. She told him tales of men and women made stronger with love in their hearts, how it made you braver, how it was everyone’s right to be _loved._

_If only she knew the truth… That love made you weak, rather than strong. Love created chaos, rather than order. It brought only pain and not happiness. And some of us… Some of us will_ never _be loved._ Could _never be loved._

Cringing away from the dark thoughts Marsh’s faint rambling incurred, he felt a nudge over his fingers, and with hesitance, he yielded and moved his hand away from where it was pressing between Marsh’s chest scales so Griselda could look at the cut underneath it. She hissed, and her mutters became more audible, and it was possible to discern the nature of what she said. It was mostly about hot-headed people that took no care to look around before swinging staffs and swords where _people eat, of all places!_ And now, all of the hard work she’d done would be wasted, and this was completely unacceptable behaviour. She ought to take his special stick away for a month and see if he’d learned his lesson _then!_

Needless to say, she didn’t appear to be blaming the fairy overmuch for the whole incident, and Bog found that criminally unfair. Under different circumstances, he would complain and grump about it, but he was just happy Griselda was there. She was an extremely accomplished healer, and knew what she was doing. She had practised healing for many years, before switching her duties there for the kitchens.

After she was done, she sat back on her haunches, wiping one hand over her forehead, looking exhausted.

“There’s no immediate life threat here,” Griselda began, and Bog felt like his strings had been cut off, and he was going to collapse ”But, this arm needs a cast, and the cut needs honey and binding, fast. He can’t afford to lose any more blood.” 

“What can I do?” Bog heard the fairy’s soft, low voice say.

“Give him comfort, sweetie. Bog will take him to the healer’s floor, and I will be right behind you.” Griselda told her. “You must have pulled back at the last second, both of you. I hate to imagine what would have happened if you hit him at full force…” the old queen shuddered, her red hair swinging around her broken horns as she shook her head.

\---------------

Like the rest of the Green Castle, the floor where the goblin healers resided was carved out of wood. The small round doors revolved on hinges made of hollowed branches, supported by thick strips of whittled oak. There were not many decorations, nor many rooms, despite the amount of goblins that lived in the forest. Marianne thought this was likely because of the goblins’ natural hardiness and resilience, as well as their severe lack of concern for injuries.

The Bog King flew down a spiral staircase that encased the core of the tree to reach a floor not far from the ground level. He carried his now unconscious brother in his arms effortlessly, and seemed to only just barely tolerate Marianne’s presence. There was a distinctly icy tone to his voice when he said only one word: “Come.” 

Usually, Marianne wouldn’t stand for such blatant disrespect. Still, the humbling experience of watching someone as innocent as Marsh getting struck down by her hard-headedness made her unaccustomedly shy. It was her fault, she knew it. The Bog King knew it too, and so, she deserved the treatment she got.

He led her down a corridor lit by softly glowing yellow fixtures, and to Marianne’s complete captivation, she saw it was amber. How had they gotten it to glow that way? Was it yet another secret of the forest? With a start, she suddenly realised the amber in the king’s staff that he carried in the crook of his arm also glowed in the same manner, only brighter and more focused, as though more energy was directed to it. She never thought to question the sight, before. 

Infinite number of questions tittered on the tip of her tongue, but she held them all back. It was not the time to sate her curiosity, and even though Griselda had reassured her of the prince’s status, she felt the horrible guilt quieting her.

Their match was… something else. Marianne had battled many, any really, that would dare face her in combat. She was well known for her merciless challenges, and none could stand against her. Princess Marianne had bested them all, with weapons, and without.

Until the Bog King.

The way he fought was vastly different from anyone she’d faced before. Even the fairies of the Southlands hadn’t provided much of a challenge compared to the king. There was a grace to the broad, powerful sweeps of the metal staff, and he flew in sharp, flitting motions, keeping up easily with her own much larger wings. She’d never seen a goblin like him before, and yet, the longer she spent observing him and the prince, she noticed other, more subtle differences between the two brothers and the other goblins species she’d seen. 

They had bark-like exoskeletons, resembling armour. Fairy armour. The visible skin was greyish, with a tinge of green in Marsh’s case, and the helmet-like leaf scaling over both their heads had a distinctly organic feel to it. They were both also unique for their flight ability. Among the swarms of goblins types she’s seen during the evening, none bore even a vague resemblance to the Bog King and Prince. 

That left the one question that currently plagued her mind, and allowed some distraction from the nightmarish evening: If the king and prince were not goblins, what _were_ they?

———————————————

Something was niggling on the edge of Marsh’s thoughts. It was flashing, like a painting spinning too fast, the images shifting and changing as it spun. The prince did not fully recognise the person in those images, but knew it was female, with large, beautiful field fairy wings that would flutter gracefully in the air as they flew together with their hands held. The fairy turned her face to smile gently at him, but before he could see her features closely, the pictured faded and was replaced with burning agony that raged through both sides of his body, different in its pain on either side, but both equally hurt.

He twisted where he laid on his back, hands grabbing fistfuls of the soft sheets. Marsh writhed, feverish. He could hear whispered conversations somewhere beside him, and tried to focus on the words for distraction.

“I… I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” one voice said, and it triggered a response from Marsh, if only he could act on it.

“You... Probably don’t remember, but I lost my sister… when she was a baby. She and my mother were returning from a visit in the elf village in the fields when an owl from the forest grabbed them and took them away…” there was a deep sadness in the female voice now. The speaker choked and cleared their throat before continuing. “He… he reminded me of her. Of Dawn. She should have been about the same age… When I came tonight and saw the raid… I just couldn’t… I would never… _never_ do anything to harm him,” she said emphasised with a passion.

“I remember.” Another speaker. One more familiar. One that Marsh felt comforted to hear, and he relaxed as the soft, rumbly tone of it sounded. “I… remember the funeral,”

Marsh’s body felt so heavy now, his fingers could barely twitch as the first speaker answered.

“I remember you too. You stayed high up in the tree, and didn’t come down,” she said, with almost a question in the statement.

“…” The silence was heavy with unspoken words. Marsh could practically feel the reluctance to talk further, but the first speaker seemed unable to stay quiet. She sounded like a dam had burst, and the flow of words could not be stopped.

A sigh. “I thought it would be something like this. I have heard many things of the Bog King of the Dark Forest, but it was never of how well he spoke to strange fairies,” she teased, and was rewarded an unwilling, surprised huff.

“When I was young and foolish, I dreamed of coming here, you know,” she said, and paused for a reaction she didn’t get. “I was going to be the one to bring our kingdoms together again,” 

A snort. “Is that _so_?” 

“Yes, that is _so._ ” She mimicked the taunt. “Of course, that dream has been dead and buried for a long time…” the tone shifted again, becoming self-reflecting.

“…”

Marsh heard only silence for a long while as he laid on his back. The pain was fading, but he was still unable to move or speak, and the fleeting, flickering images of the field fairy started spinning again. She was lit by firelight…She was wielding a sword… She was dancing and laughing…

“What happened?” the male voice finally asked.

A bitter laugh. “ _Life.”_

“…”

A sigh. “I loved someone once. He… He didn’t love me for me.” She whispered. “I don’t think he loved anything _about_ me.” And she whispered even lower, “I don’t think there’s much _to_ love anymore, at all.” 

She yawned.

“…”

“He… He is out there…And he… will… use the… potion…” a long, tired sigh. 

Silence.

“…”

A deep, shuddering sigh. “I know all about getting yer heart broken, princess.” He said, whispering in a voice too low for fairies to hear. “It’s almost unbearable. But… ye can _still_ bear it.”

\--------

Deep underground, a runaway fairy had donned his old, dented armour, from the time before he had wished himself anew. He dyed his wished upon hair back to the dull brown it used to be using supplies he had requested from the elf, and scrambled it until it was an unrecognisably messy. The old cotton clothing had been tattered by the years they had been hidden, but they would have to do. He brought out an ancient, battered sword, still sheathed in its worn, stained leather scabbard. The escapee had dressed in all his previous equipment, from the time he was a nobody. Unknown. Average. Forgettable.

It was not a time he liked to remember. 

However, it was the necessity of his situation to reassume his old identity and appearance, as much as it was possible to hide a perfect face like the one he was given, he would have to try. For his plans to work, he needed to make sure as little people as possible recognised him as Roland the Green Knight. He must be once more… anonymous. 

It was a many years ago, when he was nothing more than a street urchin in the southern lands bordering the Fairyfields that he had encountered a small, glowingly blue ivory chest, abandoned in a squalid building on the other side of the city from the Queen’s New Palace. The filthy, derelict structure was due for demolition, and Roland had decided he had nothing to lose and went in the cover of darkness to search the place for anything that may be of value. 

It was there he discovered a secret passage, hidden under a wrecked, rugged carpet, leading down a slippery stone staircase to a small hidden away room. The chamber was spotted with vermin droppings, and there was a distinct squeaking sound of rats in the far corner of the room. all of Roland’s attention had been diverted by the chest, the yellowed bone of ivory had been utterly disguised under the unnatural shining blue. The young man had approached it with greed in his heart, coveting the object so much, that unbeknownst to him, it had already begun to corrupt him.

As was the price to be paid for making a contract with a djinn. Those who wish and take for their own advancement, lose parts of their soul to the creature that granted them their heart’s desire.

Roland had wished too much for himself to ever turn away from the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. It had haunted his sleep as he laid in the cot of his prison for five long years, and he was determined to find the djinn, marry the princess and get all he deserved. 

For everyone deserved to be _loved,_ no? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Things are getting even angstier from here, so get ready for it.
> 
> I don't do dialogue well :0


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares and contemplations, memories twisted and awkward moments. 
> 
> How can you not love those two dorks?

“Hey there, Buttercup,”

.

.

The day was absolutely gorgeous.

It was agreed, among all the handmaidens, among all of Marianne’s…” friends” that the day was perfect. The weather smiled down upon her, they said. The sun shone bright, and the sky was unmarred by clouds of any kind. Explosions of flowers had erupted over the first weeks of spring to weave the flowering fields and meadows into a giant tapestry of brilliant colours. Animals had come out from hibernation and roamed freely, feeding on tender roots and soft leaves. The bees emerged and flitted among the blooms, harvesting the sweet nectar of the seasonal flowers. The royal wedding would be the event of the year, they said. And for a time, she chose to believe their words.

Marianne found herself in the wild fields. She was searching for something, but failed to remember what. The longer she looked, the more distressed she became. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, and she knew something unutterably awful was coming her way, but was helpless to fight it. All too soon, Marianne discovered she was kneeling on a daisy. The shining sun mocking her in its jolliness. The sky looming wide, empty, gaping like a monstrous beast, preparing to swallow her whole. Flowers hissed like snakes as they gently swayed in the breeze, telling her foul things about her own foolishness, their colours blinding her. The peaceful munching of animals sounded like breaking and snapping bone, the delicate buzzing of bees seemed like they were sucking the marrow.

All at once, the memory turned dark, inverted, and yet, it was not over. This was a nightmare she was well versed with, but the familiarity gave her no comfort. He was coming, and he would take her, enslave her, and she would be gone. Marianne would be gone. Marianne would cease to exist. The only thing left would be the husk of a person she used to be… _Buttercup_.

“Hey there, Buttercup,” 

Marianne froze. Her body held in a tightly sprung coil as she kneeled on the yellow centre of the flower. Ice shards entered her veins and stabbed from within. She was bleeding internally from a million cuts, her life’s blood bloating and suffocating her organs, filling her lungs till she couldn’t breathe.

A glowing green creature was coming closer.

“Hey there, Buttercup,”

He fluttered over, the large orange, brown and black patterned moth wings catching the sunlight, as did his metallic emerald armour. In his hands he held a primrose-pink vial, glowing as unnaturally as his armour. He lifted it high, his face set in a grotesque imitation of a charming smile.

“Hey there, Buttercup,”

She fell backwards, the height meaning nothing as the world turned black.

———————

Nights like this, Bog was grateful for his reduced need for rest. He watched his brother breath for a time, before the lull of the other sleeping fairy distracted him. Marsh had been given sleeping powder, to let him rest and heal after he’d been bandaged and taped together, like a broken clay cup. Their mother had come earlier to see how the prince was doing, stroking his head leaves gently, and giving him kisses. Griselda had stayed for the treatment, to see her youngest son was settled well before she had to go and make sure the goblins had cleared up the party things. She would be back soon, she said.

Bog turned over the information the fairy had willingly divulged, running it through his mind. He now understood a little more about her. For one, she was certainly not a woman he would care to face in deadly combat. The young princess had pushed every advantage she had, missing none of his weaknesses, attempting to attack them all. She moved swiftly from one position to another, her keen amber eyes darting over him, sending tiny tingles in their wake and he knew she scanned his figure all too closely. 

She was a true warrior, born for battle. Her natural ability had been honed and sharpened to a painful degree, that Bog thought he may cut himself on just by looking at her. Her freely given laughter during the match was as pealing as a bell, and it was strange how odd it made Bog feel. She was as delighted in the game as he was. The princess relished it.

_Would I have won, if Marsh hadn’t interfered?_

Thoughts of the prince had Bog flickering a glance at him, going over the thin, lumpy shape under the mossy covers. When Bog saw no change, he relaxed and returned to his musing, unaware he was watching the fairy, the wheels in his mind turning. At last, he reached the unwelcome conclusion that they would have most likely have ended in a standstill.

_When had I gone so soft that twice in one evening, I was faced with too-strong opponents?_

At the moment, she didn’t seem as deadly as he knew she was, curled in a tight ball on the other armchair in the small room, her massive purple wings wrapped around her like a blanket. After she escorted Bog and Marsh to the treatment room, she held the prince’s hand as he fell asleep, so he would stop his insistent attempts to reach and touch her. Bog had discretely scrutinized her face, and his brother’s, trying to figure out the mystery. Something odd was going on. When they were moved to a recovery suite, Bog heard the full story, and it was not quite what he expected.

As it turned out, the field fairies had imprisoned a dangerous fairy in their dungeon. Some years back, the low-life had made an attempt on the princess’s life, to entrap her with a love-potion. He failed, and was subdued, his accomplice also taken in for being a conspirator, and the dreaded potion had been tucked away in the fairy vault. As the princess had explained, she personally checked that the potion was in the vault nightly, to ensure its chaos and magic would not infect her kingdom. 

Love, she muttered bitterly, was nothing but trouble. Bog couldn’t help but silently echo her sentiment.

That night, she continued, there had been a jailbreak. Someone got through the defences and obstacles to not only free the prisoner, but steal the love-potion too. Bog noticed a very out of place frown of grief pass over the princess’s face, and she pressed onwards, recounting the events. The princess had left her castle alone, catching a single glimpse of blue before it was gone between the treetops. She knew then, as she told Bog, that the Sugar Plum Fairy was somewhere in the Dark Forest. She granted Bog a sardonic side-glare, before looking away again, completing her tale.

She flew after the glimmer of light, flying over the town near the forest, and seeing the raid, had come to investigate. The princess found Bog’s brother and the goblins accompanying him. After a moment’s discussion, the princess said as her hands curled into tight fists, her eyes on her white knuckles, the Bog Prince had pounced on her and held her down, to her irritation, as the escapee slipped behind her holding the stolen potion. The princess gave a strange choked huff, and said, “Marsh saved me from being struck by the love-potion Roland attempted to dust me with and was hit with it in my place. He has been poisoned, made to love… _me_.”

The princess was silent for a very long time after that, before she spoke up again to apologise. Bog didn’t know what to say. How does one stop the effects of a love-potion? Will he ever get his brother back? What of this love-potion, anyway? Neither Sunny nor Plum had mentioned it, and it weighed on Bog heavily as he watched Marsh breathing, listening to the hitch and sigh of the prince’s sleep. 

All of a sudden, Bog recalled the djinn’s words as she told him of the princess. Still frowning, he turned to look at the sleeping fairy when he saw her twist under the make-shift cover of her wings. She stiffened, gasped and her eyes snapped open. Bog had only time to think one thought, Her eyes are different, before she coiled and sprung on him, socking him right in the jaw.

_What is she_ doing??

Bog’s head was thrown to the side, and he was sure a few teeth had been knocked loose by the tiny fisted monstrosity that was the princess’s blow. She had a tightly packed right-hook, and he could feel raw, frenzied strength in her. He looked back, stunned with the pain, only just managing to catch sight of her as she leapt and straddled his hips, a small throwing knife held high above her in a two-handed grip, and her teeth gleaming in a ferocious snarl. The amber shade of her eyes entirely yielding to the pupil, turning them into flat discs of hollowed black, leaving only a thin outer ring of their unique colour.

“Whoa, whoa whoa!” he called, astonished, but she didn’t respond. So, he did the only thing he could.

With one hand, Bog reached up and disarmed her, the blade clattering noisily on the ground. With the other, he looped it around her slim waist and pulled her soft frame flush against his own scaly body, to restrain her movements. With the same hand he used to knock the dagger out of her hand, he pulled her arms down, trapping them inside the circle. The fairy princess writhed in his arms, thrashing wildly and almost unlocking Bog’s iron grip. He stubbornly held on, containing the detonation that was the fairy’s wrath. It didn’t take him long to hear the mumbled words between the biting growls she was letting out.

_“No! No! I won’t let you! Stay_ back! _STAY BACK! Keep it away from me! NO!!”_

_Oh. She’s dreaming._

With that realisation in mind, Bog knew he had to wake her. The princess was leaning away from his forced embrace, gnashing her teeth together viciously in a way Bog knew would hurt her jaw when she woke. Her wings were shuddering with each growl, and he was sure he was being moved by the powerful beats of them. Bog thought she would likely bite him soon if he didn’t hurry. Throwing his head back with a grunt, he aimed it, and cracked it against the princess’s forehead. 

As if he had cut the strings of a marionette, the fairy princess slumped in his arms, moaning at the pain from the headbutt. She bent forward, collapsing onto Bog’s shoulder as she came to. Bog held her down still, unsure whether the pain would have been enough to shake her out of the night terror. For a traitorous moment, feeling mildly dizzy from the hit he took to the head, he thought to himself how warm she was as he held her. How… How well she fitted there… How… _nice_ … it felt…

“Wha… what’s going… on?” Bog heard her confused voice, snapping his errant mind back to the present. She was still slack on his lap, loose and sluggish, but her hands were rising, gliding slowly along Bog’s chest, feeling their unfamiliar environment. Bog thought that as she likely could not see very well just yet, she was relying on touch to guide her. 

_If she could see where she was, she’d stab me just for touching her,_ he thought wryly. 

Bog chose not to answer, so she wouldn’t be startled by his voice in her ear, and just allow her to reach the edge of his armour, where his collar ended, and his neck began. He kept his arms in a loose circle around the fairy, partly because he didn’t want to alert her to their presence too abruptly by releasing them, and another smaller, secret part of him was simply unwilling to let go. Light, smooth, and warm, her finger brushed over his skin, and he swallowed hard at the feel of them.

“Where am I?…” the princess whispered.

Bog tried to clear his throat as quietly as he could.

“Um…”

“ARGHH!” the princess screamed, shoving away from the sound of Bog’s voice. She fluttered backwards, bumping into Marsh’s bed and sitting down hard on its edge. She held one hand to her reddening brow, and Bog saw her reach into her tunic and pull out yet another knife.

_Just how many weapons has she got?!_

“Stay calm!” he said, lifting his two hands in front of him in a show of surrender, keeping his voice as soft as he could make it, knowing she would likely lash out if he made himself a threat. “It’s just me! Bo- The Bog King!”

The princess relaxed minutely, her knife still held in a practised grip, point outward and hand tilted to the chest, ready to snap out like a snake, and Bog saw it was injured, likely from striking his face, where he had a thorny stubble. “What happened?” she asked, gritting her teeth.

“You had a nightmare,” Bog answered steadily. “Now, step away from the bed, and lower your knife, princess.” He articulated each word carefully, hoping he wouldn’t have to jump in and get sliced by the wickedly gleaming edge.

The princess stayed frozen, blinking slowly as her sight and other senses returned to her possession. Bog watched as reason came back to her, fitting in like a missing piece of the puzzle of her mind. With extreme care she lowered her weapon, returning it to its rightful place under her tunic, and Bog caught a glimpse of a row of similarly kept knives, hanging and secured by a double row of straps. The tunic was smoothed back into place, and the princess removed her palm from the growing bump over her left eyebrow. 

“I… I’m sorry…” she began, “There’s… there’s usually no one around when that happens…” she told him bashfully, looking ashamed at her uncontrolled outburst. 

“Oh! Well, uh…” Bog remained in the armchair, sinking lower into it as his knees rose proportionally higher, and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. 

This was very awkward. 

“…” The princess continued sitting slightly dazed on Marsh’s bed, looking at Bog with hooded eyes as she held her right hand in the left, red blood slowly dripping to the floor. It was making him very uneasy, being stared at that way, and he wanted to break the tense silence so desperately, he was willing to initiate conversation.

“ _So_ …” he began, sounding more suggestive than he wished to sound, and waved his hand idly. “That happens often?…”

————————

The Sugar Plum Fairy has had too many masters to remember them all. They had ranged from kings and royals, to commoners and poor folk, fairies and humans, merfolk and desertfae. In her travels, Plum had met almost every creature there ever was, and encountered diverse ways of life. In her forced captivations, she would talk with dignitaries, nobles, castle and palace staff, and the countless, faceless masses that made up the mortal realm. For a being of pure magic as herself, mortality was never something she could presently understand, despite her origins as a mortal.

Plum had long forgotten most about her life before becoming a djinn. Her name, her past family, even her previous form. What she does know, she can not be sure of. Memories lie, she knew, they trick you and make it so you can pretend to yourself that you were something you were not. Memories could be replaced, exchanged, inspired or removed. She should know, since she had been requested many a time to do just that by some of the masters she had served.

Most of the individuals that had kept her and degraded her like she was a ‘pet’, as the unpleasant Bog King had said, were unworthy of her powers. But the endless supply of selfish requests never surprised her, since it was mortal hubris to believe one knows best. They had all ended where they deserved when the deeds were done. None truly understood the price they had to pay for their wishes. None truly wanted to hear her conditions. 

But at the moment, Plum contemplated her situation as one most troubling. The little elf that freed her was not a selfish mortal as the others. She had acted on an impulse of kindness when releasing both Plum and the wretch that was still her master even now, and was undeserving to the punishment of greed that usually accompanied Plum as an old friend. 

The ancient djinn was intimately familiar with Punishment. It had been her one constant during her long life, and she knew it for all its horror and beautiful, terrible inevitability. This time, though, she would do all she could to keep Punishment from the elf, if it would be the very last thing she’d do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Night terrors are a b**ch.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths realised, while misunderstandings are bountiful... Can we seriously expect more out of these two?
> 
> Plum and Sunny are NOT having a fun night
> 
> ALSO, tension is BUILDING like mad! HEEHEEHEE

Steam curled into the dark of the sky, looking like smoke from a fire. There were other, similar plumes all around her, and while some of the pools were occupied, others were undisturbed and peaceful. Actually, everything was peaceful.

Sunny sat on a low seat in one of the shallow hot pools of the Valley, allowing her long brown hair to trail in the water. The gentle scent of sulphur was not unpleasant, and strangely, it only added to the relaxation she felt. Sunny sighed, resting her head on a patch of soft water weeds that lined the pool. She slipped further into the water as the ache in her body left her, and her eyes drooped, the sight of the open night’s sky becoming blurry with steam and exhaustion. 

The images of the evening had passed behind her closed lids, and she felt the odd contrast of cold fingers gently untangling the knots in her hair as Plum combed through it. 

“You don’t have to do that, Plum,” Sunny told the djinn, and twisted to look at her glowing companion.

“There is a long journey ahead, little elf. And we have be prepared as much as we may,” Plum’s eyes looked away from Sunny as she swept across the Valley. “We must leave come daybreak,” She said before adding more quietly, “Something is not right…” 

“The Bog King said we’re safe here. I trust him,” said Sunny. She believed the Goblin King and had faith in his sincerity. He had no reason to deceive either Sunny or Plum.

“Yes… He did, didn’t he?…” Plum whispered, still looking all around with senses that bypassed Sunny’s.

Sunny turned, the murky, opaque water sloshing around the edges of the pool with the motion. “It’s _fine_!” she grinned up at the djinn, delighting in the shallow waves that ran over the skin of her back, her pains dissipating. “Don’t be such a worrywart!” she teased Plum, reaching one small hand and pulling on the tip of Plum’s tail, making the djinn laugh indulgently. 

“While I am pleased to see you so carefree, Sunny, we are not quite out of danger yet,” Plum said, her short-lived smile fading, and once again she gazed around the crater, but this time, she expanded her size, growing and reshaping herself to the same winged dragon she was before. 

Sunny rose dripping from the water, and reached for the new clothes the king brought. The simple dress was grass woven, and edged with soft, pliable vines, and she quickly got it over her head as panic set in. Something was wrong. Something was out there.

There was a loud hiss, and a slither of hard scales and powerful muscles over gravelly ground as the creature approached. It spoke with a barely recognisable language that pitched and fell and hissed and growled all at once. It was almost as if it spoke in a hundred different tongues simultaneously, and it hurt Sunny’s head to hear it. Her sensitive ears could hardly grasp the tenor of the voice, and she was to afraid to try to understand the threat in it.

“What have we got here?” it said, rearing up over the small peak of Sunny’s pool. She could see its body now, and like its voice, it was terrifying and astonishingly archaic.

It had a serpentine shape, but far larger and thicker than any snake she’d seen. Dark red scales covered the massive length of its body, and behind the triangular head were crested feathers in all colours, running down the tips of the spiky spines along its back to tuft again at the lashing tail. It was curled into a loose S shape, its lidless eyes a poisonous green boring down on her, feeling as heavy as the world. One long, thin, black tongue slipped out of its mouth to taste the air.

Sunny gasped at the sight of the giant snake, and Sugar Plum covered her with a wing before she could see any more.

“Basilisk,” the djinn whispered.

\------------------------------------------------

The Green Castle was asleep. 

Usually, after the feasting, fighting, and myriads of games had ended for the night, smaller groups of goblins would split off to all corners of the area to wait for sunrise. Some couples sought a private corner, some stayed in larger groups that continued their partying, and then, there were the families. Bog always took a particular interest in making sure the family groupings were pleased with their share of the loot. He had a soft spot for the little ones, and would take special care in their well-being. After everyone had separated, the hum and buzz of their conversations accompanied Bog as he sat on the throne, holding the Night-Court. 

Goblins were not nocturnal, as many believed. They simply had some traditions that would have them stay awake for the entire night. The Summer Sweep, or Lughnasa as Bog knew it, was a white night, where they would all stay awake to welcome the sun as it broke through the canopy overhead. Bog would always smile while watching all the children that managed to keep awake scamper madly with lack of sleep, running and springing on their bouncy flesh as they leapt off the exposed roots of the castle. The younger ones couldn’t keep up as well, and they were tucked together like tiny rows of round turnips, resting peacefully as the partying continued around them.

Tonight, for the first time in many years, the celebrations had been cancelled. 

Marsh laid in his recovery room, sedated and healing. His injuries had been treated as well as they could be, white spider silk gauze covering the majority of his upper body with some golden stains of honey seeping from them, speckled with tiny dots of red. Bog knew that the opaque colour of the rest of their blood wouldn’t show as well next to the honey, and the specks of red was his only indicator of how much his brother was still losing.

Bog was still sitting slouched in his seat, watching the princess watching him. The room was darkened from the time the other two were sleeping in it, and he hasn’t had a chance to bring the lights back to their usual glow. The princess’ eyes bore into his, and it didn’t take him long to feel a crackle of electricity building, scaring him more than her knife held above his head, aimed for his throat had. Her blood was still slowly falling, the _drip-drop_ of it echoed resoundingly between the wooden walls of the room as the silence built.

_Drip._

She still hasn’t answered his stupid question, and he knew why. It was far too intimate for a stranger to know her sleeping habits. He wanted to slap himself across the face for even asking.

_Drop_.

She was staring at him, and he could see as her eyes slowly opened wider as she recovered from the shock of her night terror and his sorry effort at waking her, as well as the way she was sitting on his lap when she _did_ wake.

_Drip_.

It was undeniable that since Bog had been neither touched nor been touched in the way he and she had that evening, so he couldn’t have logically been entirely sure, but there was something off about the way it felt. Admittedly, it shouldn’t feel that different from the casual affection he had between him and his mother and brother. Holding her there was far too pleasant, under the circumstances.

Drop.

She was still staring. Why was she staring?

_Drip_.

Bog felt his heartbeat accelerate, and by now, he could see white all around the gold of the princess’ eyes.

_Drop_.

His breath came faster and shallower, and he tried and failed to hide it. Bog could see the purple of the princess’ lips part minutely and his gaze fixated on the sight before returning, like a magnet, to her eyes again. His wings began to vibrate slightly with each drop that fell.

_Drip_.

_I need to do something about this. NOW._

_Drop_.

_What is happening to me?_

_Drip._

_Gods damn it all._

_Drop._

_Stop staring._

_Drip_

_Stop looking at me._

_Drop._

_STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT._

_Drip._

“STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I’M A HIDEOUS BEAST, WILL YOU?”

Bog held his breath, his mouth fell open with shock, and he knew he looked like an utter buffoon.

“What?” he breathed.

“Stop _staring_ at me like I’m a freak! I can’t _take_ it anymore!” the princess shouted, her wings snapped open and flared, before she flung her hands in the air and turned on her heels to stomp stiffly, with her chin in the air, out the door. 

A droplet of blood landed on Bog’s cheek, and he touched the ruby red of it with a finger, before putting it in his mouth and licking the liquid off, thinking.

—————————————————————————

Feeling like a coward, Marianne escaped the suffocating sickroom and closed the door behind her. She didn’t have it in her to slam it, with consideration of the healing atmosphere she was in, but she was livid, and there must have been _something_ to do about it.

_That Bog King! He is just… just… the…the WORST!_

Marianne thought all sorts of insults to tell the Goblin King the next time she saw him, with his stupid, gangly, scaly form, and his stupid… ridiculous… off-putting… startling… captivating… blue eyes of his…

_He is just the WORST!_

She shook her head and tried to amp herself back up to irrational anger, pressing hard on her injured hand, now sticky with congealing blood as she stomped to the spiral staircase, going nowhere in particular. She even brought forth images of Roland’s green eyes to smother the blue out of her mind and get the rage going. But not even that could banish the azure of his from the inside of her eyelids.

_THE WORST!!!!_

Reeling inside, and seeking an outlet, she stopped halfway up to the ground level and smashed the side of the tree core with her cut hand, numbing her whole arm from her sliced, sticky knuckles, to the sore, over-strained muscles in her shoulder.

“UGH!!” she cried out, curving her spine slightly over her cradled, injured hand, relieved she could finally work up a decent amount of anger to drown the… _other_ … feelings she was having.

The _worst_ …

Where is Sugar Plum? The king had told her nothing of what happened when he left to follow the magical fairy. He admitted to nothing while she confessed to more than she ever had before. No one knew of her nightly checks at the vault. No one knew of her nightmares. No one knew her secret fears. 

Marianne felt true fury boil within her at the thought of the king being her confidant. He didn’t _seem_ untrustworthy, but she didn’t know him well enough just yet. She was sure he would prove just as unreliable, just as traitorous, just like… Just like Roland did.

Sighing and grimacing at the newly flared pain, she continued climbing upwards, ignoring the dripping blood that marked her path.

————————————————————

The basilisk loomed, dark and foreboding. 

It coiled slowly, the colourful feathers of its tail swishing over the lush green plants on the ground. The giant serpent bent its head to peer closer at the mismatched pair in one of the water-filled crannies of the Valley.

One was a demon, a djinn, it knew. It took one of the larger shapes of the modern drakon types, that had useless wings. The basilisk wanted to shake its head at the notion. Since when do serpents _fly_?

The other was a tiny creature, soft and warm-blooded. It could smell the rush of fear and adrenaline in the little thing, but couldn’t see the flesh behind the glow of magic the djinn produced. 

Outrageous, it thought, that anyone may have brought such a delicious being into the midst of the peaceful place. It was heading to the Dark Mountains when catching the scent of the mouthwatering aroma the djinn emitted.

_Magic_.

This was no place here for magic. The basilisk was not expecting it here, in this Valley. But djinns were made _of_ magic, and that was tempting beyond belief. 

The creature waited, considering its options. The law of the Valley decreed no bloodshed upon the land. If it chose to devour the djinn, there was a chance vengeance would be brought to it.

But, the basilisk thought as it tasted the air again, if it did it right, there would be no bloodshed. There would be nothing left at all.

The basilisk unlocked its jaws, exposing the rows of dagger-like teeth, and set itself on the pair on the ground.

———————————————————————

Bog rose from his uncomfortable position. During the whole bizarre exchange, he somehow managed to lower himself on the soft, moss stuffed armchair till he almost slipped off the seat. His wings were painfully bunched on his sides, and his legs have fallen asleep. Bog trod in place to shake the pins-and-needles out before walking over to the bed.

Blissfully asleep, his brother looked even younger than his sixteen years. Bog patted Marsh’s head gently for a few seconds, wondering what he could do to fix this for him. No matter what he chose, it appeared that Bog would end up making someone miserable.

He _could_ insist the fairy princess take responsibility for her part in the prince’s affliction, and stay with him from duty. 

Bog shuddered to think of the warrior princess’ inevitable reaction, shoving aside the unsettling feeling he got when imagining her with Marsh, unlikely as it was to believe she would ever cave to whatever he, or anyone else, demanded of her. Bog wasn’t even sure he had it in him to force the princess to do anything she did not wish to. He certainly didn’t want to lose any fingers to her multiple blades, and neither did he want to think too hard about any other kind of pain that choice would cause him. 

He reached for a clean rag on a shelf above the bed to wipe up the spots of drying blood off the floor, remembering the flowery, sun-warm taste of it. 

Before he could begin cleaning, the door to the room opened, and Smudge, one of the beaked goblins sentries, walked in, looking around carefully before catching sight of his king. 

“Your majesty!” Smudge said, much too loudly.

“Quiet, you fool!” Bog admonished, irritated at the interruption. 

“But sire!” the little goblin continued, lowering his volume and clicking his beak anxiously.

“Can’t this wait?”

“Sorry, sire, but there’s reports on lots of creatures being-” Smudge looked suspiciously to his left and right, as though someone would pop up from the dark corners of the room and yell _AHA_!, and held a hand to his beak conspicuously. “-Love-dusted!”

_Oh, for the love of every star in the sky… Not MORE love-dusted problems!!_

“Gather them all,” Bog instructed, groaning and wiping his face with his free hand, his mind processing the new issue. “Bring them all to the dungeons, while we think about what to do.”

“You got it, your majesty!” Smudge's large, flopping ears waggled as he nodded his assertion, before he scurried away.

_Now we REALLY have to find the one who created the potion, and knows how to nullify it… It would be a magic-user… like… like..._

_SUGAR PLUM!_

Bog let out a surprised growl, bunching the cloth in his hands, tearing it with his claws as he was bending to mop the mess up.

It was Sugar Plum. He was _sure_ of it. 

Now that Bog knew the full story, everything made sense. The djinn may not have chosen to create the love-potion on her own accord, but she did elect to omit its existence when warning Bog of… Of Marianne.

The demon had told him nothing of the misdeeds the male fairy had done to the princess. She told him nothing of her part in it. She deliberately poisoned Bog’s mind against the princess so when Marianne appeared, he would be wary of her, and instantly try to expel her from the forest. He has been right all along; Sugar Plum _was_ evil. 

And he left Sunny with her.

In the Hidden Valley.

_Oh, no. What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOO... I'm sure you are wondering... WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH THE BASILISK... Well, I was trying to think of what could be a danger to a being as powerful as a djinn, and that's what I came up with. Sorry! 
> 
> Let me know if you hated it!
> 
> The next few chapters are gonna be a little sad, too, but I'm currently working on chapter 18 and it's kinda sorta maybe getting better.
> 
> Maybe. Probably.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting drunk when all else fails to make you feel better may not be the best decision, but what else can a girl do in the early hours of the morning?
> 
> I... I just hate Roland.

Goblin ale was strong stuff.

Marianne took another sip. The pain from her hand already beginning to fade into a dim throb somewhere at the back of her head as she nursed a second cup of the alcoholic beverage.

She sat at the kitchens, and the place was deserted. There was no one around to question her, or drag her about, or tell her they loved her under the influence of drugs, or stare at her intently, or… listen to her…

There was no one, and it was better that way.

It was better to be alone and afraid, than with others and falsely courageous. _People let you down,_ she reminded herself as she took another sip. _They would cheat you, and lie to you, and betray you. They pretended they care, only so they can take from you._

_Yeah. It’s better to be alone._

However, she did envy the Bog King for his mother and brother. He had a family. Marianne didn’t have that. She vaguely considered whether her father would have been stayed with her as she got wrapped and bandaged, whether he would give her gentle kisses and stroke her head with tenderness as the Queen Mother had done for the prince.

_Heh, probably not._

Undoubtedly, the fairy king _did_ love his daughter, but it was a reserved kind of love. The love for your kin, with not much additional emotion tied to it. Marianne didn’t think the king would even mind her absence much, after he received the message she had forwarded him with Greenwood. He would take care of the court and the people back home while trusting her to fix the mess out here, she knew. 

Marianne twirled the wooden cup from one hand to another, making it dance on its edges. Her knuckles have stopped bleeding some time ago, and she tried to care about the fact her whole hand and her bracer was stained a dark, sticky red, but there was a hollow emptiness in her chest, and it was tough to work up any sort of deep emotion. Right then, all she wanted to do was drown her every sense in this cup.

She took another deep gulp, letting liquid fire burn her throat and warm her empty belly.

Confused, overwhelmed, and pained, Marianne had kept climbing the stairs to the ground level of the castle. She searched for her sword, but it wasn’t there, so she walked back to the glass wall she had been standing by before the arrival of the Bog King, trying to ignore the place where the prince’s blood had been mopped up. The full moon had almost completed her semicircle in the sky, and she could see it begin to dip over the tall trees of the forest. 

The king had allowed her to sleep unmolested for a long while. Why had he done that? There was nothing in his face that made her think of kindness, with his deep scowl and snarling teeth. His body language was menacing, as he stalked and slouched and rattled himself like a snake in the grass in warning to any other than his mother and brother that would come too close. She had already noted the fact the goblins would scurry _around_ his knees, and never touched his skin as they hurried about for their duties. Marianne recognised it almost immediately, since it was precisely how she was like, too.

Thinking of the goblin king made Marianne’s throat dry, and she quickly fluttered her way to the kitchens, searching in the darkness for a drink of any kind - merely wishing to quench her thirst. She was rewarded with a corked clay bottle that reeked of fermented grain, and she almost smiled at the sight. It was a simple matter, then, to grab a cup from a shelf and settle down on an upturned bucket for a self-pity drinking session.

Marianne laid her head on an armoured forearm, trying to forget the nightmare and the mortifying situation after it. She rolled her head until the lump over her eyebrow was pressed painfully enough to bring tears to her eyes, reminding her of the way the Bog King had woken her. 

It was hardly the first time she had dreamed of ridding herself of Roland in a permanent way. Killing him would be simpler than breathing, she thought. The more vivid the nightmare, the further she would get on her way to the dungeons with a knife in her hand. It was a fluke the king was there, taking the brunt of the violence she was yearning to inflict.

“Ugh…” Marianne groaned, thinking of the moment she returned to herself. She was kneeling and sitting on something hard between her legs. The texture was an unfamiliar wood, and her first thought was that she was embracing a tree. Her eyes blinked stars and darkness out of them, and her hands felt around her. She breathed in a strange scent of the forest, woodsy with a touch of wet leaves and wildflowers. The tree she was holding was warm, so warm, in fact, she wanted to melt around it with an inexplicable desire for comfort. The branches of it wrapped around her like arms, and she felt…

She felt…

_Safe_.

The foreign notion of _safety_ was as unfamiliar as it was misleading. Marianne knew she was never safe. She could never let down her guard. And the moment she heard a soft breath in her ear, she realised her third mistake of the night.

She realised that she was not able to trust _herself_ around the goblin king. The way he looked at her after the nightmare was… disturbing. The blue of his eyes drowned her, and she struggled to keep breathing as the charge of static grew and rose with each passing second. He lifted his large, taloned hands in mock surrender, and kept his voice levelled as he taunted her with his calm and self-possession. He had the upper-hand, and knew it too. He could have killed her multiple times in the night as she foolishly slumbered, for unknown reasons putting herself in his care.

But he hadn’t.

Why didn’t he just get rid of her? It was clear he thought of her as little more than an annoyance. Was it for the sake of his brother, that he didn’t forfeit her life? She saw the way his eyes widened in revulsion at her lack of control, and heard the way he twisted her title into a jeer. 

But he had also wrapped arms around her… gently. He had the perfect excuse to snap her neck as she was helpless on his lap after attempting to cut his throat. No one would question his reasons. Marianne knew he was certainly strong enough to break her bones with passing ease.

But he hadn’t.

The king could have sent guards following her. In fact, she expected at any moment to be swarmed with goblins as they attempted to carry her away to the prisons. She had no intention of going quietly, and while her sword was still being kept somewhere, she had nine other knives on her body at that moment, each sharpened so they could slice even through the thick hide of the forest dwellers.

But he hadn’t, and she was still alone, her blades clean of blood.

The thought of her weapons reminded Marianne that she had left her blade in the sickroom. She had plenty more to replace it with at her home in the fields, but the idea of the Bog King keeping her any of her belongings irked. He already had her sword, and she was about to gather the fortitude to rise and face him and demand her things back, when she heard a voice calling.

“ _Princess_!” 

It was the king.

———————————————————

_~Earlier that night~_

Disguised and cloaked, Roland flew towards the Fairyfield Castle. 

Even in the late hour, there was a flurry of activity, and huge torches were lighting the ground around the big, hollowed rock that housed the fairies. He snuck closer, waiting to catch a guard for a private word to find out more about the situation. Roland was well aware he had to keep out of sight from the vast majority of the fairies until his effect was well in place with the few he will manage to snag. 

With their… _help_ … Roland thought he could start to have people begin to trust him.

The runaway perked at the sight of one fairy, a female, coming closer with a torch in his direction.

_Even better…_

Roland smiled, preparing to Charm the young woman. She was average looking; the delicately pointy features common to their kind fair, her brown eyes slightly too wide set to find their large size attractive. But she had a small pouty mouth that Roland fixated on, the greed and lust within him coiled to spring like a spider on prey. It had been five long years since he had his hands on a woman, and his body was feeling the lack. 

Ever since he had found the djinn, Roland had been living a life solely based on physical sensations. He wanted to eat only the choicest fruit and delicacies, lay to rest on only the softest, plushest beds, and kiss the silkiest, plumpest lips. Roland knew Marianne to be beautiful and pleasing to look at, but the princess would not let him touch her beyond the occasional oversight on her behalf. 

Roland needed to touch someone. The hollowness in his heart would feel a little less gaping when he would hold another in his arms, or cover their body with his as they laid together. Of course, the darkness always crept back whence it came soon after the deed was done, but Roland found no shortage of people willing to please him, ever since he wished to be the most handsome fairy in the world.

Some were so shallow, he didn’t even need to use Charm on them to get them alone. They would take one look at his face, sigh and flutter their eyelashes provocatively. And who was Roland to refuse them? Some would need some more encouragement. Those who may have had partners they were doubting were not too tricky to talk into a meeting with Roland. And there were a few handful that took real effort from Roland to seduce, but those would taste the sweetest.

It was with one young fairy, a newlywed that had reluctantly, but obligingly accepted him to her bed, Roland had the first taste of the forbidden fruit that was the ones who were hard to get.

And there were none harder to get than the Crown Princess.

Roland allowed the guard close on him, as he sat on a rock not far off the path. He removed the hood of his cloak, and despite knowing the brown hair had dulled the perfect looks, his face was the same chiselled, sculptured perfection that it was the day the djinn granted him his wish. He pretended to focus on the menial task of sharpening his battered sword, running a whetstone suggestively along the blade, pursing his lips slightly as he did so, allowing the perfectly shaped eyebrows to come down handsomely above his bright green eyes.

He waited for his prey to come to him, his ears twitching slightly for the sound of her passage through the field, his wings preparing to spread.

———————————————————————

He had to go back to the Hidden Valley. 

There was no other choice in the matter. Bog may complain or demand the fairy princess should find the culprit responsible for the love-potion and bring them to justice, but now that he knew the truth, those demands were as empty as they were useless. Marianne would never find Plum. Not where she was.

Bog had to hurry. He had wasted enough time mulling over what he would say to the princess when he saw her again, after the embarrassing way he was caught embracing her. She must think terrible things of him… Not only had Bog taken advantage of her moment of fragility, he gawked at her like a marvelling child. 

Granted, it was not every day one sees such a person as the princess, and the unique ways she conducted herself. The way she burned her path in the world, casting a shadow as large as his castle at everything around her, engulfed in flame that blazed mere mortals. 

Now that he knew the princess… no, _Marianne_ , was not what Sugar Plum had made her to be, nor was she what Sunny had said that prat, Roland, told her of the princess, it was more vital than ever to help her in her quest. 

She only wanted to find the djinn. Bog couldn’t believe he was so obtuse not to see it sooner. The princess… Marianne… was neither cold-hearted, nor cruel. She was clearly hurt, terribly, atrociously hurt by the things that befell her in the past. Her night terror proved it. The words she uttered in her sleep cut through Bog’s heart, piercing it with the depth of fear she must have felt, seeing the things she saw then. Marianne obviously was terrified at the thought of either Roland or the djinn loose around the world. Could Bog, or anyone, blame her?

How could anyone doubt of her compassion? Marianne flung the sword aside, distressed at the damage she caused with it. She plainly never meant to injure Bog severely. She only defended herself trying to make him listen. The princess had held Marsh’s hands and encouraged him to keep still and calm. She waited for him to fall asleep to sit down at the chair, and even then, as she told her story to a reticent and dubious Bog, she watched the prince closely for the signs of his breathing, leaning her bracers on her knees. 

Bog recalled seeing the strange fairy through the dining hall window of the castle. He already knew who she must be, then, by the shimmering colours of her wings, unique among her kind. The same colour wings the remaining princess of the fields had, the one he’d seen in the funeral he attended. She had looked so sad, there at the window, as she had then at the funeral. Her face crestfallen, but dry. Until the moment Marsh appeared at the entrance, and her demeanour changed at once into one of a soldier’s, he had simply looked at her for a long moment as he perched, hidden on a high branch, deciding how he would act when he entered the castle.

The longer he thought of it, the more enraged Bog felt. The male fairy that Marsh mentioned, Roland, would best not come across Bog’s path. If the princess herself did not rend him limb from limb, then as soon as the situation would be cleared here, Bog swore he would take a scent sample from the fairies in the fields to track the despicable creature and hunt him like the contemptible animal he was.

Unable to stay still any longer, he gave Marsh's leg a final pat before snatching his staff from its resting place by the round door of the room, and went to search for his mother, before going to find Marianne. 

She should no longer fight her battles alone. 

_At least of that, I can make certain._

——————————————————

Marianne jumped to her feet at the calling of her name. She panicked, and looked all around for an escape, but found no other exit other than the one she had entered from. There was one more door, but she didn’t know where it led to; Griselda hadn’t shown her that way. 

Tipsy and irrationally stricken at the thought of being found even slightly under the influence of alcohol, she rushed the mysterious door, and closed it, just as she heard the telltale sound of the king’s buzzing wings. 

“Marianne?” he called again, and she closed her eyes at the sound of her name spoken in the king’s deep voice for the first time. He hadn’t called her by her name until then.

Past the point of no return, she backed away from the door, lifting her hands up as though to defend herself, forgetting all about her weapons. Her wings flared without her knowledge as instinct told her to fly. She turned away from the sound of the king’s footfalls and small noises of objects moving around to see she was in a dark, dirt-floored corridor, and the floor was imperceptibly leading downward. 

“Damn.” 

There were more of the strange amber lights on the ceiling, and she has found herself going deeper into the unknown tunnel rather than getting out. This is not what was supposed to happen.

Behind the door she has come from, sounds were coming closer—the soft scrape of claws on the wood, and a bucket being turned the right way up. Marianne also heard the unmistakable noise of a person taking a deep breath.

“Marianne…?” 

She gulped and did what anyone would when hunted. She turned back to the passage and ran.

———————————

_The princess was here._

He could smell her, a mix of lavender and sweetgrass, with a little of warm sunshine. The same as the way her blood had tasted. There was an ale bottle, half emptied.

The blood spotted trail that had led him from the healer’s floor all the way up to the dining room had stopped there, but he could still detect the occasional red smudge from her injured hand, and felt a deep, encompassing shame. 

Marianne had hurt herself on his face. He was that repulsive.

_No wonder she ran away._

Bog stopped where he stood, the sudden thought freezing him in place, his heart clenching painfully.

_Did she run away? Did she go back home? She wouldn’t just_ leave _, would she? Marianne would say…something… right?_

_Wouldn’t she?_

Before Bog could work up a decent amount of anxiety, he caught the scent again, leading him down another hallway. He flew closer and called for her.

“ _Princess_!” he stopped, pricking his ears for a response. He heard the sound of wood scraping on wood from inside the kitchens nearby, and followed it.

Opening the door and entering it, he first noticed the bucket. It was upside down, close to a low counter fit for the smaller goblins that worked in the kitchens. Bog got close and saw the smears of red all over the counter, clay bottle and wooden cup. 

“Marianne?” he called, waiting for the princess to answer.

He began to worry as the silence stretched. 

_Is she running away… from_ me _?_

It didn’t matter how the thought stung. Bog reminded himself he didn’t really know Marianne. He realised, much too late, how little he actually said over the time they spent together. Even less than Bog knew of the princess, she’d known of him. 

_She has no reason to trust me…_ He thought with growing discontent. _But that’s not important right now._

Goblin ale was far more potent than the stuff they passed as wine and mead in the fields. The forest folk liked their drink with a kick, and there is little to no chance the princess had any tolerance to it. What if Marianne managed to poison herself and is laying somewhere where she needed help? 

Bog took a deep breath through his nose, tasting the air around the kitchen and trying to find her trail again among the strong fumes the ale was giving off. After a few tries, he succeeded. He walked toward the door leading to the underground caves, where tunnels were leading all around the forest. There were multiple exits in key locations, and the shafts were used mostly to transport herbs and consumables into the castle’s keep to store in the cooler underground caves. 

“Marianne…?”

_Why would she go here?…_

Getting irritated but, if he was honest with himself, a little excited, with the game of chase, he threw open the door to the tunnels, only half expecting her to stand behind it.

Bog smiled a hunter’s smile at the challenge the fairy princess has given him. The tunnels led in many directions and some ended up in dead-ends.

_Come out, come out, where ever you are._

“Game _on_ , princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And.... the games BEGIN!
> 
> Bahah tell me how awful I am... Go on, I dare you.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like a fun game of catch?

“Game _on_ , princess.”

Marianne heard the king’s echoing challenge, and all at once, the irrational panic of being hunted turned into the childish thrill of a game of chase. She remembered he hadn’t harmed her until then, and it wasn’t likely he would start to, now. But, as she passed as quickly and silently as she could down a corridor, she only had to make sure he didn’t catch her.

Marianne bit her lip in anticipation.

He knew the place better, it was his home turf. She had no previous knowledge of these tunnels at all, which meant she could surprise him in her choices. The king had no way of predicting her movements. Marianne came up to the first fork, and ran at a sprint to the left. She let out a joyful laughter, before slapping a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles.

_Giggles? Since when do I giggle?_

But Marianne caught the sound of rattling wings echoing from far behind and proceeded at full speed down the tunnel, taking erratic turns as she could, to throw off her pursuer. At times she heard a breathless laugh, or a disgruntled huff. And sometimes, to Marianne's utter delight, the hunter _spoke_.

_“I’m coming straight onto you,”_

At the first tones of the king’s song, his deep voice sent a rush of electrifying tingles, making her pump her legs harder. It was fortunate that the fairy princess had trained her legs as well as all her other muscles. They didn’t disappoint as she continued the flying run through the hills and dips of the tunnels. Now and then, Marianne caught sight of a door’s outline, or a natural opening to the upper world. Every time, split-second decision would push her to pass them by, going further down the weaving, twisting path ahead.

_“I’ve made up my mind,”_

Marianne didn’t remember ever feeling this way before, hearing the king playfully sing to her. She had a huge grin plastered to her face while her straining muscles screamed for rest. But she didn’t dare stop or slow down.

_“I’m feeling strong, now I’m coming through,”_

His voice was getting closer, and Marianne’s smile faltered slightly. What would he do if he caught her? Where in the forest will they emerge? What if she got lost?…

_“Straight on, straight on for you,”_

The king was so close she could hear his laboured breathing as well as the dry leaf sound of his wings. Marianne looked to all sides as she ran, searching for a way out, any indicator of an exit. Her heart beat so loudly, it was deafening, but she didn’t stop, nor did she look back.

_“Straight on for you!!”_

There! An open exit with no door, letting in the fresh night's air! She could _taste_ it. The slight buzz she had after drinking was long gone with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, and now that the race was coming to an end, she wondered what that meant for her and her hunter.

_My hunter? He’s not_ my _anything._

Marianne reached the end of the tunnel, and her wings opened, yearning to take her to sweet freedom.

For one insane, unhinged moment, Marianne toyed with the idea of slowing down, maybe allowing him to fly into her. Perhaps he would wrap his long arms around her just like he did back in Marsh’s recovery room, and she could do the same, and welcome the warm, living wood that was his body.

_“Catch me if you can!”_ she called instead, and with one powerful jump to take her away from the disconcerting thought of the king’s embrace, she took to the sky. 

However, the king had something else on his mind.

“Watch out!” he suddenly shouted, “Princess, _stop_!” 

Marianne started at the sudden change of tone in the king’s voice. He was alarmed, and she slowed, but not enough to halt her momentum entirely, not quite sure if to trust him. Still revelling with the pleasure of being able to spread her wings once more to fly, Marianne turned her head slightly, looking backwards.

Too fast, the king sped ahead, blocking her from flying right into the gaping maw of an animal she was too close to see clearly. The creature’s jaws snapped shut just as the king reached Marianne’s side, almost closing on his wings. For the second time that night, Marianne crashed into another person. Only, this time, the sharp branches from a nearby bush stopped her from catching herself as the sharp tips scratched her back, and she tumbled towards the ground, pain lancing through her wings.

————————————

Sunny shivered. The basilisk was enormous, but Sugar Plum’s wing had covered it from her sight. The imprint of its horror remained with Sunny, though, and she was locked in place, until Plum’s sharp bark of command brought her out of her reverie.

“Sunny!” Plum said urgently from above her wing. “We haven’t got much time! Listen very carefully. Basilisks eat magic. This one will go after me, and I will distract it so you can run to the forest!”

“I can’t just leave you!” Sunny yelled. _Is Sugar Plum about to sacrifice herself for me?_

“You must! You have to try to find your way to the Bog King’s castle! He will help you if I’m not there!”

“I…” Sunny looked around, trying to find something that would help them, her voice silenced by dread.

_What can I do? I don’t want Plum to die!_

The basilisk stayed where it was, but Sunny heard the whisper of feathers over the rocky ground, and the hiss of its breathing. It was tensing itself to pounce on them. 

“Sunny! Go now! Save yourself!” the blue djinn ordered, as she was pushing Sunny back with one glowing, scaly back-leg. “I can’t fight it, it’s too strong!”

“I… I…” Sunny stuttered, as Plum began shouting at her to leave, to run, to hide. But Sunny had enough of other people saving her. She had always been soft, pathetic. She’s regularly hidden behind others, meekly following, docile and compliant. 

Her own foolishness got her in this situation. She was too helpless against Roland’s charms. Too weak to run away when it went wrong. She could hardly do anything at all. Things _happened_ , but it was all somehow her fault while being out of her control. 

Sunny had had enough of being out of control. She’d had enough of hiding. She was _sick_ and _tired_ of being mild and tame and dutiful. 

The basilisk was oblivious to the shouting that was happening on the ground below. If it heard anything, it matter not to it. One direct glare at either Sunny or Plum would freeze them in place, keeping them there until it had finished its meal. Sunny caught sight of the muscular rope of its body shift under the edge of Sugar Plum’s glowing wing. The djinn began screaming in real panic now. 

“SUNNY!! RUN! DO IT NOW!”

“No! I won’t run!” she shouted back, finding her voice at last. 

The moment before the basilisk sprung, Sunny remembered a crucial detail about the evening’s events. Before she could wonder why Plum hadn’t reminded her of it, and why she _shouldn’t_ do it, she called at the top of her little lungs, using every bit of strength she still had.

“I wish for the basilisk to disappear!”

_—————————————————————_

The Hunt commenced. 

Marianne was _fast_. She sprinted down the narrow passageways, and Bog could only keep up with her by flying. She left an easy track behind in her race, one made of scent as well as the footprints on the dirt floor of the tunnels. Her wild laughter echoed back to Bog now and then, encouraging him to tease her more.

Bog knew fairies like her enjoyed exhibiting emotions through song. So, he took a page out of their book.

_“I’m coming straight onto you,”_

Keeping the pursuit, he could tell she was trying to confuse him by weaving and turning in wild directions, all seemingly random. Marianne probably didn’t know about his sense of smell; otherwise, she wouldn’t bother with the effort and just run as fast and as far as she could. Bog knew he had a stupid grin across his face, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

_This is just too much fun._

_“I’ve made up my mind,”_

_Aha_! He caught sight of glowing purple, turning the far corner, and he leapt in his hurry to reach her.

_“I’m feeling strong, now I’m coming through,”_

He was getting close. Bog saw Marianne, only disappearing when turning the corners or down the low dips in the tunnels. Her wings billowed behind her like a cape, and if he reached with the full extent of his arms and staff combined, he could _touch_ them. The idea of laying a hand on her, in any way, made him falter and he almost fell out of the air, giving the princess the extra time to get further away.

_” Straight on, straight on for you,”_

Bog knew where they were heading. The tunnel will not split off again, and he hoped Marianne will react well to their location. His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest, from the physical exertion as well as excitement. He tried to keep his set goals in mind as much as he could, but the princess was proving to be a very potent distraction.

_“Straight on for you!!”_

The path was ending. Bog could see the last of the night’s moonlight in the meadow they would exit in. He was now so close that it was possible to hear the princess’ breath hitch as her wings prepared to spread, running up the last incline. His hunter’s instincts told him to keep pushing the advantage he was gaining on her, capture her and keep her. But Bog’s common sense told him that if he were to attempt to wrap his arms around the fairy princess, he would end up a bloodless corpse with multiple stab wounds. So he receded, allowing her space to flare the now glowing wings as they caught the bright light of the moon.

The opening to the meadow loomed ahead, and Bog noted the starry sky. There was a sweet dewy scent that told him dawn was fast approaching. She was almost out, and over her shoulder, she taunted him.

_“Catch me if you can!”_

Marianne leapt, her wings catching her as she took off to the air. Bog marvelled at the sight of her deep purple wings turning into a luminous display of glowing pinks and magentas, before he remembered something awful.

“Watch out!” he warned, “Princess, _stop_!” 

A snapping turtle would be there, one raised to guard this particular tunnel from any curious creatures that would try to invade the Green Castle. The turtles were collected and tamed by the goblins from infancy, to tolerate the forest dwellers, and the forest dwellers only. Anything else would be bitten in half by the powerful jaws of the guardian.

The princess turned her head in the wrong direction, looking startled at his sudden shift in mood. The large reptile woke from its sleep at the shout of the princess, and as though in slow-motion, Bog saw the retracted neck tense in preparation for attack. Pushing his wings harder than before, he felt something in his back pull as he flew to the princess’ side, to keep her from the fate she was propelling herself towards. 

Bog didn’t make it, the turtle’s long neck snapped out in Marianne’s direction, the jaws cracking shut at his back, barely missing clipping a wing as the larger dryad physically blocked the princess’ flight path. She crashed into him and bounced back as Bog turned, snarling and batting an irritated swat on the reptile’s snout with his staff, despite being aware that it had only done what it was trained to do. The turtle whimpered and shuffled, backing away from the king.

A pained moan alerted him something was wrong, and he rotated again to see Marianne’s big, velvety wings detach from a briar bush. The fairy princess began plummeting to the ground in slow motion, her wings giving a weak spasm in the attempt to keep her afloat. Bog groaned at the thought of the pain she must be feeling, and reached the princess just in time to grab her wrist before she could fall any further.

He lifted her with ease and grabbed the princess around the waist as they went to the ground. Bog felt Marianne gasp, but as he didn’t feel any knives in his back, he supposed she couldn’t have been quite so angry, yet. It took only a few seconds, and he released her as soon as they touched solid ground. He tried not to think about the fact he was holding her again, after his deranged little impulse back in the tunnels.

However, Marianne didn’t let go. Her arms looped around Bog’s midsection, squeezing him close as he kept his hands up in the air, the two weapons still held in his right. She was breathing heavily as her cheek laid on his chest, likely from her sprint through the tunnels. The embrace that was not an embrace was not receding. In fact, she was constricting harder. So much so, it was beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

_Ow. That’s… tight._

“Uh, princess?” He started, trying not to squeak, “Are ye alright?”

“Uh, hmm. Yes.” Marianne replied, still holding on to dear life. 

_What is happening right now._

“Are ye… Are ye hurt?” The plates around his waist were grinding together, and Bog was sure they would crack, if this continued.

“Not badly. You?”

_What is she doing?_

“I’m… Uhm… fine…” Bog coughed. Marianne didn’t seem inclined to let go.

“Good. That’s good.” She huffed a relieved breath.

“Uh…” _She can’t be enjoying this… Can she?_

“What _was_ that?” she asked, shifting her head a little, just enough to try to look at the guardian turtle.

“A snapping turtle. He guards the tunnel,” Bog’s voice was distinctly strained now, and he was fighting against the strange thoughts the embrace that was not an embrace incited. It was getting harder to keep his hands away from the fairy the longer she kept holding on in that way…

“Oh. Okay.” Was all she said. 

“Marianne?” 

“Yes?”

“Do ye… Do ye… _need_ something-” Bog cleared his throat again, “-from me?”

“Need something?” Marianne sounded confused, and Bog could feel the fists at his back open, relax and lay flat on his spine.

He had to work every single muscle on his body into a tight bundle to keep from shuddering at her touch.

“Er…”

“Why… Why would you… say-” at last, the princess craned her neck to look up his chest, into what Bog imagined to be a very unattractive angle of his face, as he tried to smile uncomfortably at her. “-That?”

Bog saw the moment realisation dawned on her face. He would have cut his tongue out rather than admit how the horror on Marianne’s face stung him.

“Oh, no. Oh, no!” For the second time that night, Marianne shoved away from him and fluttered backwards, putting space between them. This time, he was relieved to see, she hadn’t reached for a knife, choosing only to fold her arms across her chest. The princess tucked her hands under her armpits, as if afraid of what other disgusting things she would accidentally touch.

“Ah… Uh… I’m sorry-” Bog apologised, unsure what he was apologising for, and scratched the back of his neck, feeling so awkward it was almost painful. 

“No! No, I’m sorry… “ she said, before releasing one hand to smack her forehead with the heel of it. “I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, haven’t I? Or maybe that was last night… or is it this morning?” she rambled, closing her eyes and seemed to be unable to stop the flow of her words. “Oh, God, Marianne, _just shut up!_ ” 

Choosing to ignore the princess’ mumbling, and his own erratically beating heart, he brought forth the sword he carried in his right hand.

“Ah, well, princess, here… I brought this for ye,” Marianne opened her eyes and looked bewildered at the blade he was holding out for her.

_It’s hers, isn’t it? What’s so surprising about it?…_

“Oh! Thank you,” Marianne said, stepping forward. Bog nimbly flipped the sword in the air, so he was holding it edge first, the grip waiting for the princess’ hand. She took it, her face reddening as she sheathed it in the empty holder. 

“Well, I… I think there’s something ye need to see,” Bog stated, shrugging in the direction the lightening eastern sky. “Would ye like to stretch yer wings a bit?”

“Good idea, that’s… a good idea,” she replied, stepping closer to Bog again with a hesitant, crooked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering why Marianne was being so grabby, she was turned about quite a bit, got dizzy and I think in the commotion she just clung onto the first thing she could, without even realising she was doing it. 
> 
> C'mon. Be honest. You'd do it too, wouldn't you? Eh? EEHHH??
> 
> I would LOVE it if you could comment with your favourite passage here :D 
> 
> THANKS FOR READING, KEEP ON LOFING


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-wish meeting, Bog and Marianne just like fighting each other, and Fucking Roland makes a fair point about something, if you squint right.

The forest just before daybreak was incredibly different from the forest at night. 

At night, there were quiet whispers and silent shuffling of creatures and plants. The moon shined brightly through the thick branches and trees in clumps, making everything glow gently in suffused light--dim and muted and peaceful. The forest at pre-dawn was a far darker, and noisier place. Marianne had to rely on the bog king to find her way in the gloom while the chirping and twittering of the morning birds sounded like happy babbling.

The first time she travelled between the trees was vastly different from the second time, which proved Marianne’s theory that the company made the trip. Lost amongst the big group of dragonflies and goblins, behind held under the love-potion affected scrutiny of the Bog Prince, she flew tense and anxious, ready for either battle or attack.

This time, flying with the Bog King, was far more relaxing. She was not quite sure how, but over the night she had spent with him, starting from their battle, to Marsh’s treatment, bypassing the embarrassing nightmare. All through the exciting chase through the tunnels, she had began to reluctantly consider him something more than just the Almighty Bog King of the Dark Forest. There was much he hadn’t said, but so much more that he’d shown her, that she realised she wanted to be—unlikely as it seemed— friends with the king. 

All primary assumptions were wrong, Marianne supposed. He hadn’t taken revenge on her, hadn’t attacked her unprovoked. In fact, twice that evening, Bog had faced her failings without mocking her for it. Over the course of the night, he'd been nothing but a solid rock foundation. The king remained steadfast in his manner as everything else became bewildering and overwhelming.

Marianne had been just so angry. Too muddled and stubborn to see what was in front of her. The Bog King was a prickly, grumpy, hard-headed, and kind, considerate, respectful—all of which, the 'bad' and the 'good', were things she hadn’t often encountered before, and never within the same person. 

_But… being alone is better… Right?_

Was it? Perhaps it is not so bad to be with others if you had an equal. Perhaps if there was someone to face you and look you in your eyes as they spoke, without averting their gaze. Perhaps if Marianne had found a single fairy that could hear and actually listen, life in the fields would not have been so miserable and lonely.

Marianne turned her head to watch Bog spin gracefully in the air, avoiding a low hanging branch, as she considered the idea of having an equal. His tall, sharp-pointed figure was vicious to observe. Vicious, and extremely fascinating. While the king was almost hulking as he slouched, rattling his already impressively wide shoulders to appear even wider, she also saw how he folded himself down to reach the young prince in his bed. He had large, dark-skinned hands, tipped with wickedly sharp claws, and Marianne knew he held them up high above and away from anything that might be damaged from the knifelike edges. She caught a glimpse of the oddly shaped feet as Bog moved his long, slim legs, and wondered whether their purpose was to be hand-like, or simply coincidental. 

_And Bog is an absolute_ fantastic _sparring partner._

Marianne shook off distracting thoughts that made her throat go dry when the trees began to thin out and she saw that dawn was only minutes away. Out of nowhere, a column of blinding blue light erupted the heavens in glittery explosion. All around them, the forest shook as hundreds of bird rose from their perch and nests to fly fiercely away from the pillar of blue fire.

The king paused for a beat, before flying even faster in the direction of the source of light, with Marianne beating her wings furiously behind him, taking an advantage with each flutter. Before long, she was side by side with Bog, and together they reached a wide-open space that Marianne recognised to be a valley of some kind. Not too far from where they emerged, the light was dissipating, leaving black spots in Marianne’s vision. Bog hurried to the place where the pillar once was, and Marianne saw there was only a spattering of glitter on the ground, and in the middle of it, looking like the eye of the storm, laid an unconscious young elf.

——————————

Bog’s brain stumbled over the images of the previous minute. The light, the explosion, the glitter, and last but not least, Sunny’s small shape laying on the ground, looking for the world as though she was dead.

When he reached her, acutely aware of Marianne close behind, he touched the elf’s shoulder gently, calling her name to try to wake her. Marianne kneeled at Sunny’s other side, passing her long, thin fingers over the elf’s body, checking for injuries. 

“I don’t think she’s hurt… She’s breathing, but she’s unconscious.” The princess met Bog’s eyes and frowned at what must have been a dismayed expression. “Do you—know—her?”

Before he could answer, Sunny stirred under Bog’s hand, and opened her eyes blearily. She looked at Marianne first, her eyebrows coming down in confusion, before she caught sight of Bog on her other side.

“Bog!” she yelled, jumping to her small feet and wrapping her arms around Bog’s neck. “You’re here! I can’t believe it!”

“Uh, Sunny…” Bog said, trying not to look at Marianne’s open mouthed shock at the casual contact. 

Sunny began to cry, her sobs shaking her body as she continued to cling to him.

_Why I am being used as a hugging post for these women!?_

“Oh, Bog! There… There was this _really_ big snake!” Sunny stammered, “And… And it was going to eat us!”

“It’s… It’s okay, Sunny…” Bog leaned slightly away from the elf, while patting her gently on the back to try to soothe her. He wondered where Sugar Plum was, and what had happened with the light. He knew the djinn wouldn’t, couldn’t leave Sunny to her own devices, and for a dizzying second, he thought that maybe the djinn had died. Bog tried to feel regret about her passing, but he was more concerned with the love-potion and what it would mean for his brother and the others that are inflicted with the effects of it. Without Plum, how could they find an antidote?

“And… I had to…” Sunny continued interrupting Bog’s thoughts, “I had to _use a wish_!”

“What?” 

“I had to wish for the basilisk to go away!” she sobbed again, clutching tighter.

At this, Marianne spoke up. “What do you mean, _use a wish…_?”

Bog grimaced, and Sunny turned at the sound of the princess’ voice. She seemed to only just now realise that there was someone else around. She sniffed, finally detaching her death grip, and Bog tried to not sigh in relief at being released. Sunny wiped a hand under her eyes before getting a good look at Marianne.

“P…P…Princess Marianne!” Sunny’s brown skin visibly paled at the sight of the kneeling fairy. She backed a step in fear, and Marianne’s frown deepened. Bog saw her golden-brown eyes flit between him and Sunny, taking in Sunny’s clearly forest-made dress, the fact she was far within Bog’s lands, and how casual the elf had acted with the supposed King of the Forest.

Marianne rose to her full height. Still on the ground, Bog saw her hands clench into tight fists, shaking at her sides while her face contorted with fury, and what he thought might have even been pain.

_Oh no… She’s going to think…_

“You… You _played_ me.” 

Bog quickly got to his feet, raising his staff with him. Marianne’s lips parted to display most of her teeth as she caught sight of the weapon, taking the worst meaning from the action. Her wings snapped open, and she backflew in the air after getting off the ground. Withdrawing her sword from its sheath, and a long dagger from her side of her boot, Marianne hovered, waiting. She was duel-wielding the weapons, looking like a warrior goddess as the breaking dawn set her figure on fire, the purple wings exploding in stunning shades of pinks and lilacs the edges black and dotted with white speckles, far brighter than the glow they had in the moonlight. Bog watched her loom above, gripping the blades tightly, dagger held overhead, and the sword pointing starkly at his chest, sharpened to a deadly point, and realised just how easy she went on him during their previous match.

——————————————

By daybreak, Roland had three of the sentries under his Charm. Two were females, and one was male. All three have fallen for his ‘sharpening my sword’ trick. He always found doing a simple task with the right expression would have people fall for him quicker. 

Roland toyed with the three a little, before each, in turn, was sent away with suggestions to do his bidding. He had the first female bring him food and other clothes. Not green armour, of course, though he sneered at the drab brown he received in the stead of his preferred majestic emerald. The male was sent to speak to the Captain, with a suggestion of a plan of action. The second female he kept with him for a while longer. She was lovely, hair slightly longer than was normal, that fell in a soft honey-coloured curls to her shoulders, large, brown eyes and a mouth that begged kissing. Roland spent some time with her, enjoying the warmth of another living being before he sent the fairy to gather a group and begin searching the fields for any suspicious love-struck behaviour. 

The little beast that snatched the potion was not one Roland recognised, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t recognisable. He gave as accurate of a description as he could, and instructed all three fairies to approach the little rodent cautiously if they see it. In the case they got a hand on the love-potion, they were to return immediately to Roland, so he could dispose of it safely and correctly.

When the sun broke the treetops of the disgusting place the locals called the Dark Forest, Roland had regained some of his previously hard-earned influence. He took a moment to think how he may further his sphere of Charm.

Getting close to the high-command officers seemed like the best way, but doing so is risking exposure and discovery. Roland decided to bide his time and wait for his instructions to be fulfilled. He knew by his previous position as Captain, that old King Dagda was not battle-worthy in the slightest. In the king’s youth, when he was still a prince, he was a great warrior. But with the death of the queen and the younger princess, the old fairy just gave up on his glory days, shutting himself away from the world.

The Fairy King neglected his duties in Roland’s opinions. As a father, and as a ruler to the Fairyfields. Dagda did not protect Marianne from Roland, and he allowed the foul creatures of the forest to thrive and, furthermore, raid and steal each year from the fields. It was revolting, disgusting, and utterly unacceptable. 

Roland will scour the forest, burn it all down and cleanse the fields from the pests. He will do so and win the princess’ heart. He will be King.

And then, maybe, just maybe, his own heart won’t feel quite so hollow.

\-----------------------------------------

Princess Marianne rose in the air, holding a sword and another smaller blade. Sunny glanced quickly to the east, watching the sunrise over the horizon and for a brief second, she saw the lake in the centre of the crater bloom with faceted, rainbow coloured light from the crystal boulder at its centre. Tearing her eyes from the beatific scene, Sunny turned back to watch the quickly developing fight in front of her.

“Marianne…” Bog began to say, and Sunny flinched with him as the princess growled at the sound of her name on his lips. “Princess...” He tried again, “This is not what ye think.”

Through clenched teeth, Sunny heard Princess Marianne reply to Bog. “Pray, tell, what is it that I think?”

“Ye don’t understand-” Bog began to explain, but was cut short. 

“I understand _plenty_. You let me talk, and talk, and talk, and all the while—” the princess shifted the point of her sword to Sunny, making the little elf girl cringe, “—you assisted her. _Them_.”

“No!” Bog said, taking a step closer to the hovering princess. “Ye need to hear what I have to say. When I found Sunny and Sugar Plum--”

“So, you admit to having prior knowledge?” Marianne accused, before turning her head, unlocking her intense gaze from Bog’s to search for Plum’s telltale glow. “Where is the foul creature, now?”

“I don’t know where the demon is, but ye need to listen-” 

The fairy looked back, the sun painting one side of her face with light, while the other side darkened, giving her a disturbing half-face look. “ _Don’t tell me what I need_ ,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You know nothing about me!”

Sunny thought there might have been tears in her golden eyes, but it could have been from the glare of the sun. Marianne closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she forcibly relaxed her face, and blew it out in a sharp gust.

“Did you free Roland, too?” she asked without opening her eyes. The princess’ was set in a harsh line, as she waited for the verdict.

“I… I did not…” Bog answered, but just as Marianne opened her eyes again in what was almost relief, he glanced at Sunny, the princess catching the flash. 

“It was _you_.” She came to fly lower to the ground, advancing on Sunny. “ _You_ , an elf, could bypass the fairy repellent rowan. _You_. I recognise you. You work in the prison and around the castle.” Marianne’s voice was flat and menacing. Each word dripping with threat.

Sunny tried to remember the earlier conviction, to be braver, to stop hiding, to not be out of control, to not be helpless anymore. But, as the Crown Princess Marianne of the Fairyfields neared her, sights set on Sunny like the basilisk’s was, she forgot all such promises and baulked, taking a step back for each flutter of the fairy’s wing. 

When Sunny reached the edge of a pool, her foot catching on the raised fringe, she saw Bog step in front of her line of sight, stopping the princess from coming closer.

“ _Move_.”

“No.”

“Move _now_.” 

“I won’t.”

Growling, “I will cut through you to get to her.”

_Don’t…_

“Ye can try, princess,”

“You _know_ I can.” 

“I do, but, _will_ ye?”

_“Yes, I will.”_

_No… Stop…_

“I don’t think ye will,” Bog twirled his staff, making it dance into a shield between him and the princess. Sunny saw the Marianne’s expression in flashes through the spinning metal, shifting into one of amused fury.

“You’re sure you’re up for a second match, Bog King?”

“Yes,” he laughed nonchalantly. “ _Oh, yes_.” Bog's staff settled in his hands in a tight grip as he shifted to a crouch.

“And the stakes?”

“I win, ye listen to Sunny.”

“And when you _lose_?”

“Ye can take her and my head to yer fairy court.”

_Please, stop…_

“I like my odds, Bog King.”

“And I like mine fine, too, Princess Marianne.”

_NO!_

With Bog and Marianne's agreement to the terms of their fight, Sunny snapped back to herself.

_I have to stop them!_

“What are you two doing?!” she yelled, pushing past Bog, to stand between the two combatants. “Have you forgotten what you told me?” she scolded Bog, putting one hand on her hips, sweeping the other at the direction of the valley.

“Valley of PEACE, Bog!” Sunny said, and in her exasperation, she hardly noticed the look of utter shock on Bog’s face. It was as if she was a talking beetle, the way he looked at her. Dimly, she wondered whether she ought to get insulted, or that the goblin was actually looking forward to the fight. Not that it mattered, as Sunny made herself clear. “Place of healing, and neutral soil where no fighting is allowed!” she repeated his words to him with an annoyed glare. “Have you lost your _mind_?”

Sunny turned on her heel, furious, not waiting for the king’s reaction. She faced the fearsome fairy in the air, craning her neck back to look the startled princess full on the face. “And YOU!” Sunny pointed, “You _know_ what Roland can do! Did you not fall for it, as well?” Sunny said, her voice softening as she remember the agony of the night before, resting a hand flat over her heart.

“Did… did he not… hurt you, too?” Sunny mumbled, distraught. “Did he not fool you, too?”

Marianne swallowed hard, her face wiped clean of anger as the elf’s words sank in. “Yes… He… He did…”

“So why… why can’t you stop and _listen_?” Sunny pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. “I am so, so sorry…”

Marianne was silent, dipping lower and lower until her feet touched the ground, where she sank to her knees in front of Sunny. Bog shuffled beside them, unsure what to make of the princess' change of attitude. The two females looked at each other for a long moment. The fairy, glorious, powerful, beautiful and armed. The elf, tiny, empty-handed, alone and afraid. Both heart-broken, both betrayed, both fooled by the same one. Marianne’s eyes stared into Sunny’s, searching for something, though Sunny didn’t know what. She slowly lowered her weapons to the ground and lifted her long-fingered, calloused hands to Sunny’s short, brown, work-hardened ones. 

“I am sorry, too.” She whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at writing fight scenes (cringe as I remember Bog and Marianne in the earlier chapter) so ya know. Anticlimactic resolution FTW 
> 
> Love ya even if you hate me :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marsh is getting worse for 'mysterious' reasons.  
> Marianne made a friend.  
> Sunny is scheming.  
> Sugar Plum is being Sugar Plum.  
> and Bog had ENOUGH of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard for me to finish. Something about it just kept going wrong and blegh, and I am 100% aware it's bad, but after weeks of tweaking and trying my best, I even missed my usual upload day to try to fix it and I just could not. Hope you get the general gist of what's happening, cause I really can't look at it any more XD

There was pain, alternating between too hot and freezing cold. When he woke, he couldn't sit up, his body was restricted, somehow. There was a pleasant, comfortingly familiar smell around, and as he tried to roll on his side, a fluttering of hands appeared around his face when he opened his eyes.

“Marsh, Son, you need to stay still!” 

The familiarly grating voice of his mother was in his ear, warning him. Marsh struggled feebly before he collapsed back to the pillows behind him, exhausted, as Griselda straightened his covers and fiddled with something that tugged on his arms gently.

He groaned, groggy and disoriented. His brain didn’t appear to work right, things were not where they were meant to be. Images and memories mixed with dreams to create a confusing tangle that made his head hurt.

“Mom?”

“Hey, baby.” His mother settled a small hand on his cheek, and Marsh opened his eyes again to see her smiling at him.

“Mom, where am I?” he asked, trying to lift a hand to rub his eyes. Everything hurt and his body was heavy. So, so heavy… 

“You’re in the healer’s floor,” Griselda whispered, stroking his head leaves. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Uh…” The pictures in his head shifted again, and there was more than one fragments mirror pieces of the same things, reflecting like a kaleidoscope of a sickly pink haze. It was painful to try to discern anything from the confusing colour, but he tried to focus and one crystal clear face rose from the fog. Heart shaped, with brown, silky hair that framed her face. Her eyes were a golden brown shade of fury incarnate, but ever so beautiful. Marsh had another image trying to fit itself over the face, but the pink haze was fighting it, fighting _him_.

“Mom…” he groaned, lifting his weak right hand to his head, ignoring the pain that flashed burning hot across his ribs as he moved.

“Just take your time, baby. Don’t push too hard…”

“My head hurts.”

“Oh…”

His mother sounded surprised. Was it not supposed to hurt? Worried, he opened one eye a smidge, peeking at the goblin sitting on his bed. She was frowning, her wide mouth turned down, and her hand stilled around an edge of his coverings.

“Is that… bad?” Marsh was almost too afraid to ask.

“No! No, baby, don’t worry,” she hurriedly releasing her concerned expression, pasting a bright smile on her face. “Your brother had gone to the Valley to get some medicine for you. You’ll be right as a raindrop in a few days!” Griselda began fussing with the blankets again.

Marsh was beginning to remember, and with the flood of memory, came another, stronger, urge. One bypassing all sense and logic. Something more powerful than even self-preservation. 

“Mom… Where is… Where is Marianne?”

The Queen Mother stopped her flitting around, and stood still next to Marsh by his bedside. “She went with Bog.” 

“No… No… she… She wouldn’t go… she _wouldn’t_ leave me.” Marsh began to shake, the pink haze was forming into a snake in his chest, expanding as it was reaching his throat, threatening to choke him.

“Marsh?” Griselda was even more worried now, watching the strange behaviour. Her son had turned from confused to panic-stricken in a flash. “Are you okay?”

“I need to see her… I need Marianne…”

“She’ll be back soon… Marsh, what’s wrong?” His mother was worried, but all he could think about is the princess. Her face, her eyes, her mouth, her hands, her _voice_.

“Why isn’t she here?” he twisted painfully on the bed, trying to rise and search for his beloved himself, before he suffocated, before he _drowned_.

“What are you doing?” Griselda began raising her voice in her distress. “HELP! I NEED HELP!”

“Marianne… No… That's not right… Sunflower! Where is Sunflower?…. NO! It’s Marianne!” Marsh mumbled, no longer making any sense as waves after waves of memories, real and those that felt not so real crushed his inner eye to oblivion. In a last attempt to subdue the flood, he rattled his wings, rising slighting from the bed. He tried to shake his shoulder plates in warning, only to have his wings stop working entirely as untold pain burned his left pauldron, paralysing him from the agony of moving it. He dropped back to the bed, where he continued to mutter.

“Sun… Marianne…”

Griselda was almost as panicked as Marsh appeared to be. Her son, her baby, tried to fly, tried to move his broken and torn shoulder in response to a state she couldn’t understand. Something was scaring him or causing him to behave erratically. She suspected it was the love-potion Marianne tried to tell her about. How foolish was she to not take the princess seriously? Love was no game. There are no short-cuts to love. Anything that appears to be so easy had to have dire consequences and worse results.

The healers swarmed the room, assisting the Queen Mother as she tried to keep the young Bog Prince from ripping his bandages with his thrashing. She quickly instructed them to spread a little sleeping powder on the boy, hoping it would be enough to keep him calm and subdued until Bog and the fairy her son was in love with came home.

More than anything, she hoped whatever Bog was searching for in the Valley would help Marsh as he seemed to think it would. And that the princess would stick around, just for a little longer, to keep her little boy from more suffering.

——————————

There was so much glitter on the ground, coating the flora and fauna of the beautiful valley in large spots all over. The pools of sulphated water and steam around the vicinity of the light explosion had a shimmer shifting with the underwater currents. Ferns, bushes, soft mossy ground also had an unnatural glimmer to them, and Marianne hoped it wouldn’t damage the living creatures of the adjoining domains. She couldn’t be sure of the toxicity of djinn magic.

It didn’t take the princess too long to see the truth in the elf’s honest brown eyes as she pleaded Marianne for understanding. An echo of her thoughts from the night before swooped in through the red fog of rage and betrayal. Marianne had already assumed that Roland and Sugar plum somehow coerced a poor soul to assist them. Knowing Roland’s type of influence, it was even likelier after five years he snagged an evil hook into someone’s unsuspecting mind. With the anger abating, reason returned to its rightful place.

Of course, none of this changed the fact Bog _lied_. He knowingly kept vital information from Marianne. Intentionally kept her in the dark as she fumbled for his approval to search the forest. And even if the Bog King didn’t mean to keep Marianne in ignorance, he still chose at every opportunity to hold his tongue, to remain silent, to keep his distance.

Marianne shook herself, bringing her focus back from the spiny wandering king that buzzed and flitted around the green growth of the valley as he avoided the glitter stained ones, to the story the young elf called Sunny was telling her, as the two sat on the ground together.

“...And then, I was feeling really weird and really tired, and Plum and I stopped on a branch in the Dark Forest, and before long there comes Bog, all rattling and growling!” Sunny giggled, and averted her eyes from the king. He looked up startled at the sound of her laughter, causing Marianne to erupt in a sudden rolling laugh herself, at the sight of a tall, gangly _not-a-goblin_ like Bog looking so bewildered.

When both girls slapped each other’s hands with recently earned familiarity, trying to shush each other, Bog looked even more confused, his leafy eyebrows coming down over his eyes, and his mouth sneering in thought. Which, of course, caused the other two to explode in another fit of cathartic giggle all over again. 

After a time, the laughing died off, and Bog returned to his gathering, silently fuming and collecting all kinds of herbs and roots he voiced to no one in particular are for the prince, mostly ignoring Sunny and Marianne as the elf continued her tale of the night’s adventures.

Sunlight was beginning to spread like fire in dry heather, showering the world in colours and smells and sounds. The place, as Sunny told her, was ever so beautiful in the full moonlight. But Marianne looked around her, the rays from the sun breaking into a million shades of colours through the strange crystal rock that centred the crater, and thought of how stunning it was at daylight. If she lifted her hand high enough, she could catch one little shard of light on her hand. 

Her right hand, which was now clean of sticky blood and coated with the equally sticky, but ever more pleasant smelling green paste. Bog mashed into his own hand with a small pebble after she’d washed it in one of the many pools. The fragrant mineral water stung her abused knuckles and made her hiss. Bog grimaced, and his leafy brow shifted as he scowled harder, all the while saying nothing, not meeting her eye. Once the paste was spread evenly, it began to quickly harden into a shell-like casing. Still soft and malleable, but secure enough so it wouldn’t slide off. The feeling of Bog’s hand on hers was even harder to shake off.

Marianne wondered if it was because he was angry, or because he was upset at being caught in a lie. There was still a flutter of her own anger in her stomach, but it no longer burned her brain with red, fiery haze. There was merit to the pretext that he had possibly tried to come clean and tell the truth, but as she remembered a commonly known saying: ‘Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda’. It wasn’t enough to _say_ you mean to do something. Take action, take command, take control over the situation, if you wish for something to happen your way. 

On a more positive note, Sunny was a sweetheart. Her name rung true to her character, being bright and cheerful--despite a long night and heartbreak, the elf seemed remarkably resilient. As she told her story until the moment Marianne showed up, the fairy could not help but see how lovely the little elf was, with long, wavy brown hair that fell past her shoulder, bound only with a red-spotted band. She had the small, broad features elves had, with large chocolate brown eyes framed by her long, black eyelashes. And when Sunny smiled, her whole face lit up. A fleeting thought blew across her mind, and she focused on it.

 _Could it be that Bog King…_ liked _… Sunny?_

Marianne turned her face away, staring into the blinding refractions of light from the central rock, pretending it was the brightness that burned her eyes. What did it matter, anyway, if the king was interested in a sweet young thing like Sunny? Though, it would explain why he assisted the elf when she showed up at the forest. 

_I will never be sweet._

Shock froze Marianne. 

Why would she think that? Why would she care, what the Goblin King liked in a mate? It was none of her business. It wouldn’t matter at all. No, it did not matter in the slightest what Bog liked, and what he didn’t. If he appreciated sweet little things like Sunny, or some of the hulking goblins in the forest, or if he even liked the talking mushrooms! Nope, nope, nope. It did not matter.

It did not matter, _at all_.

——————————

Sunny stopped talking, the moment Marianne froze.

One minute Sunny was telling her about the huge basilisk that attacked her and Plum, and the next, the princess’ face halted its expression, pausing in with a perturbed, almost forlorn look. Only her eyes moved, and Sunny couldn’t help but see them follow Bog around as the king bent and gathered more things into the bag he previously gave Sunny. 

They were all waiting, unsure how long it would take, for Sugar Plum to come back to the physical world. During the night, Plum had explained to Sunny a little of how the process of wishing works.

“My kind exists in two plains of this world, Sunny. One is the physical where you see me now. I am tangible to you, you can touch me and see me and hear me. I can influence the world around me-” She elongated her arms, shaping them into long tubes that shivered in the wind, making Sunny laugh at the sight of the ridiculously long limbs. “-and there is another place I exist in. That is where the rest of me resides. In the Veil.”

As Plum told the elf, the Veil was a place of wild, untethered magic. It was the source of power for djinns, where they harness the unending source of energy that they wield. Plum said that many djinns might have been swallowed by the Veil in the past. Or perhaps they simply refused to return to the physical world once the connection to their master was severed. Sunny thought it was terribly sad, that any being would choose such a fate as opposed to a life (?), an existence to enslavement. It was then that Sunny swore she will not wish anything, if she could help it. And more importantly, that she find a way to free Plum from her prison.

“It’s important you know, Sunny, that when a time comes to make a wish, there will be unforeseen consequences to the wish. I’ve told this to my masters along thousands of years, and I tell you this now, hoping you will listen. You must not wish with greed in your heart, nor with malintent.” Plum held Sunny’s eyes with her own, staring until the little elf nodded, almost frightened at the djinn’s vehement speech.

“When you do make your wish, I will vanish. Gone to the Veil for a short while. It could take a few minutes or even longer, depending on the wish and how much magic I had to expend.” Sugar Plum smiled, and reached to pat on her charge’s head fondly. “Don’t worry, I will be back as soon as I can. You will be alright.”

Sunny shared the same knowledge with her companions, and they all agreed to wait for the djinn to manifest herself again. Marianne told her of Roland’s actions five years before, and hearing the actual story made Sunny leap on Marianne and embrace her tightly, feeling sorrow and pain for the princess. Sunny would have cried, if not for how uncomfortable Marianne seemed with the contact. The elf was painfully aware of Marianne’s reputation, which was why it was so easy for her to believe the lies Roland told her. Powerful, beautiful, and quiet was the princess, but not unfeeling, not cruel and certainly not malicious.

As the morning stretched, it was hard to miss how the princess was ignoring Bog. Sunny considered the way Marianne’s face crumbled with emotion as she connected the dots between Sunny’s presences and Bog’s knowledge of it. 

Thinking of the way Marianne had behaved around Bog made Sunny aware of how Bog acted around Marianne. As much as the princess’ fleeting glances were missed by Bog, the king’s own glimpses and flitting eyes were missed by Marianne.

_Huh. That’s strange. Are they in love or something?_

A bubble of excitement grew in Sunny’s chest. She wanted her new friends to find happiness, and if they found it with each other, even better! The more she thought of it, the better the fairy and the goblin seemed suited for each other. Strong and capable, compassionate and thoughtful. 

But they were clearly shy, obviously avoiding each other. Sunny thought Marianne’s excuse was somewhat explainable, though Bog was absolutely nothing like Roland and that was obvious to anyone with not just eyes, but a brain. But what could have happened to Bog that he didn’t pursue the lovely princess? Why was he cringing away? 

Hmm… I’ll need to fix this. These two belong together.

Determined, tiny, and beyond exhausted, Sunny began to plot with the wild imagination of those that couldn’t sleep, but couldn’t help but dream.

———————————

There was light and pain, and the horror of being bodiless.

The light was not warm. It was a light that shined through glaciers; bleak and empty and freezing. Sugar Plum floated in it, soaking the magic into herself as she prepared to return to Sunny. The elf was safe, she knew, connected to her as she was. Plum could return to the physical world, but she would be weak and powerless, and worse, if anything was to happen, the djinn would be unable to help the elf and protect her.

So, she braced herself to the flood of raw power. Power that sought to corrupt, to trick and deceive.

Plum spent all her time in the world fighting against that influence. It would have been so easy to simply allow her masters to fall into their own ruin. It was not under her decree to warn them of greed and punishment and the consequences tethered to the wishes. But long ago, when Plum made her own wishes, the only real memories she has left of her life from the time before, she would have liked someone to have told her what she tells them. 

Do not wish with greed. Do not wish for evil. Do not wish out of hatred. Do not wish out of spite. 

Those words, in countless languages she had spoken. Again and again and again. Sugar Plum had learned not to attach her emotions to the people she served. Their fate was not what she wanted to keep in her mind for eternity. 

_Sunny will NOT end up the same way. She has used one wish, and fortunately, it was not a selfish one. I will have to be even more careful from now on, so Sunny would not use any more wishes at all._

With her energy charged again, Plum felt the pull for Sunny, and gathered herself to the return of her senses. The world was suddenly all warm sunshine and sound and tingles over her icy blue skin. Bit by bit, her physical body was reforming, and the first thing she saw was Sunny. Smiling, happy, safe.

Then, from behind her, came the Fairy Princess.

“Sunny! Stay back!” Plum came to fly in front of her charge, protecting her from the threat. She grew larger, to the height of the Bog King. The djinn was readying herself for a fight when she heard Sunny speak. 

“No, Sugar Plum, it’s all right!” Sunny poked her head from around the pointed end of Plum’s swishing tail. 

“It’s the princess! Sunny, you need to run!” Plum manifested tiny clones of herself with a wave of her hand, and set them on the princess to delay her.

“OW!” The fairy shouted, swatting at the miniatures the djinn called Plumettes. She spun, flaring her wings to balance as she tried to catch one, and almost fell. Plum suddenly noticed the Bog King there, reaching for the princess to stop her from falling, before retracting his hand as she stabilised herself. The king joined the other royal as they scrambled to push away the tiny creatures.

“Sugar Plum! Stop, _right now_!” Sunny commanded.

Unable to help herself, Plum and all her clones froze in midair, halting all movements as their master ordered them.

The princess scoffed, and gave Plum a hard look with her mouth twisted. The Bog King continued his swatting of the tiny flying creatures, grunting as he swung his staff around the fairy. From the corner of her eye, Plum saw Sunny walk around to stand before Plum, a sad look on her face when seeing what her command had done.

“Oh, Plum… I’m sorry…” The elf’s face crumbled with sympathy, but before she could rescind her order and allow Plum to move again, the Bog King flew up in a short burst of his rattling wings, to stand before the djinn. He peered closely, and Plum could see every scar and each line on his face as he did so. She didn’t know what he was searching for, exactly, but seeing him with the princess and Sunny gave her a few clues.

“So.” He said, moving back a few steps to look at Sunny. “The demon does as ye tell it to.”

“I guess so, but Bog, she’s—” 

“Can ye tell it to explain itself for its actions?” Bog demanded, giving Plum another poisonous look.

“What do you mean?” 

“Yer pet is responsible for more than a few things, Sunny.” The king stated, swinging his long sceptre in Plum’s direction. “She lied, did ye know that?”

“No… Plum wouldn’t lie to me.” Sunny shook her head, her brown hair flying around her long ears.

“Perhaps not to ye, but she lied to me,” Bog tilted his chin, point again at Plum. “Did ye know _she_ is the one that made the love-potion?”

Sunny’s face blanched, and her eyes were fearful as she glanced at Sugar Plum. The djinn’s cold, icy heart sank. It was true. She had made the potion. Not willingly, not out of choice, but it was nevertheless true that it was her creation and her doing. 

“No… I… I didn’t know…” Sunny looked at the princess sadly. Plum wondered what could have happened in her absence from the physical world to create a situation where the ruthless princess of the fairies was sympathetic to an elf that had freed the prisoner that caused her such damage, and whether she will ever get the chance to know the truth of the matter.

“Ask her, then. She will tell you the truth.”

Visibly gathering herself, Sunny stepped closer to the frozen figure that she commanded. The little elf looked sad, tired and determined. Plum might have smiled, had she been able to move her face at all. 

“Please, you can move now, Sugar Plum.” She said.

Released from the invisible bonds, Plum recalled the tiny miniatures, shrank to her original size and straightened her tiara, sniffling at the three that stood before her. 

“Well,” was all she said.

Bog growled, shifting his body to face the little glowing djinn. “What have ye got to say for yerself, then, demon?”

“I have done nothing wrong. The potion mattered not to you or yours.” Plum crossed her arms.

“It mattered to _her_.” Bog pointed to Marianne without turning, who was standing to the side, her face unmoving as she watched the proceedings in silence. She did betray a slight surprise for being brought to the attention of the group, but settled her features once more as the conversation continued. Plum took note of Bog’s apparent consideration of the princess before answering.

“I had no choice in either the creation or the distribution of the love-potion. I cannot be held responsible for whatever that awful Roland had done. If I could, I would have snapped his neck years ago.” Plum uncrossed her arms and tossed her floating hair back.

At this, Marianne stepped forward. “In that case, why did you always choose to stay silent whenever I tried to talk to you, Sugar Plum?”

“Telling you anything would have changed nothing, princess. You would not have set me free, would you? Even if I could prove my innocence.”

The Bog King laughed, low and bitter. “Innocence? Ye yerself have admitted fault, just last night. How come now ye suddenly changed your mind?”

“I believe I said it was my fault Sunny was put in harm’s way. I did not take responsibility for Roland’s actions.”

Sunny drew her eyebrows down. “But, Plum, you didn’t tell us what happened with Roland. Bog is right about that.”

“All right! I did not share my vast knowledge of the world and its workings! Have you any idea how much I know? The quantity would not fit in your brain! Now, enough with accusing me as if I am the enemy and personally splashed people around with any kind of potion!”

Bog seemed inclined to retort, Sunny looked sad again, but Marianne is the one that surprised Plum the most. She stepped around the other two, placed a gentle hand on Sunny’s hair and the other hand on Bog’s arm that startled the king to silence. 

“I don’t think that any of this matters now. Roland is out there, the potion is out there, and Bog said someone has it, and they are using it all over the forest and fields.” Marianne’s sensible tone surprised Plum. She seemed so…grounded. 

“I suppose you are correct… I can’t do much about Roland, I’m afraid. He’d become Passive to me ever since Sunny here is my new master. I can’t sense him.” Plum sighed, and turned slightly away, watching the extra colours in the fractured light coming off the large, raw diamond meteor set in the middle of the small lake. Her eyes saw so much more than the mortals that demanded answers from her. But Plum’s eyes could not see everything. “I can help you with one thing, though.”

“One thing? Just _one_ thing? Are ye having a laugh?” The Bog King gripped his metal staff tighter. “My _brother_ was hit by yer love-potion. He’s laying in a sick-bed in my castle because of it!” Bog snarled, and looked like he would attack Plum. The princess beside him made a small move, distracting him. Before anything else could happen, Bog turned around, flying off with a snap of his wings, disappearing into the treetops before the djinn could blink twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. No one is having a fun time at the moment. Including me!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog gets the cold shoulder, and then they have to leave the castle... AGAIN! Honestly, they're like bees. In and out all day long hahah 😅😁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super long chapter. Tried to make it smaller, but it didn't feel right. 
> 
> Hope you will enjoy 😊😊😊

Bog pursed his lips, noticing that was on the receiving end of a chilling cold emanating off Marianne.

He focused on his flight path, keeping just ahead of the princess and Sunny, who rode upon Sugar Plum’s dragonfly form.

He supposed he deserved the cold shoulder to some degree, but despite everything, surely his behaviour could, in part, be justified. There was a small amount of chatter going on behind him as they flew to the Green Castle, passing between the day-lit trees. A few nonsensical tidbits of information came his way, but otherwise, there was no idle chitchat between them. He wasn’t sure if to be pleased or insulted.

They paid him almost no mind at all beyond the direction they were flying, absorbed in their soft-spoken conversation, following behind Bog at a distance he considered to be unnecessarily far. He grimaced and played back the night before, start to finish, trying to pin-point the times where his life suddenly contained more women than he ever thought possible. 

Sure, there was his mother, but she was  _ his mother. _ Female or not, she didn’t count. Then Sunny and, resentfully, Sugar Plum. And the last one… Marianne.

Bog turned his head, scowling as he saw the princess deliberately look away from his searching gaze, sticking her nose in the air. In his distraction, he flew too close to a tree and yelped in surprise as he had to make a spinning evasion to avoid a collision, grunting with embarrassment as he heard the sound of three distinctly different giggles from behind him. 

He ground his teeth and muttered to himself about how he was King and could kick them out of his forest if he was so inclined—but it was an empty threat. There were still things to do, and problems to solve, antidotes to be made. At the least, Marsh would need to have the fairy around him while he recovers. Bog felt a passing thrill—which he immediately squashed down viciously—at the thought of the princess being around the castle for any length of time. 

_ Not like she’d want to be around  _ me,  _ anyway. _

She seemed to have enjoyed the journey to the Valley, at any rate. Bog tried not to stare when he glimpsed her wondrous expression, her petite hands reaching to touch the greenery. He even caught a few small, tight smiles on her face, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid smiling back. Marianne wasn’t smiling at him, he told himself. She’d said how she wanted to see the forest… it was  _ that  _ that pleased her. 

The thought of the princess’ smile came with a deluge of images, places he’d take her, perhaps as an apology… Maybe it was time to reconsider the uneasy truce between the kingdoms, after all, now he knew Fields were being led with a fairy like Marianthe. It might be his chance to renegotiate the terms and have his kingdom live under better conditions. There was much the forest had to offer in trade, just as the fields were rich in things his kingdom lacked. 

Bog shook his head in irritation at his thoughts. Marianne said she buried the dream of joining the kingdoms in reconciliation long ago. The way she had been acting now told Bog that if that very same dream wasn’t entirely gone before the night’s events, then, assuredly the princess didn’t feel any warmer towards the forest  _ now. _

Strange, how disappointing that felt. Stranger still, was the fact Bog realised that in the back of his mind, as soon as he saw Marianne wasn’t what she seemed to be at first glance, he had begun to revaluate the current situation between the two realms. There was more to the fairie it seemed than Bog initially thought.

_ She wouldn’t agree to any peace, truce or negotiation  _ now.  _ I’ve buggered it all up. Good on ye, Bog, ye big oaf. _

Trying to bear in mind the reasons he had to keep the knowledge of Sunny and Plum from Marianne proved to be more difficult than he could have imagined. Each excuse got knocked down, smothered by another part of his mind that fought him for domination. The part that wanted to trust the princess and earn her trust in return.

_ I didn’t know her.  _ Ye could have tried to, instead of attacking as soon as she appeared.

_ But she just showed up at the castle!  _ What was she supposed to do? Wait for an invitation? Taking the Bog Prince to the fields would have been an act of war.

_ Then, she hurt Marsh!  _ So did you, ye idiot!

_ And not to mention what Sugar Plum said…  _ Ye trusted anything that demon said? What a fool.

_ And… She ran away from me… Before I could explain.  _ Well, look at ye, who  _ wouldn’t _ run away?

She could have been yer friend. 

Bog’s wings gave a twitch, and he dipped slightly, before righting himself. 

_ Friend…?  _

_ No, no, no, no. She could never have wanted that. _

There was no doubt in his mind at all. There was no way the princess could have wanted to have any lasting relationship with Bog, in any way, shape, or form. After Bog would get rid of the fairy pest that was Roland, Marianne would be free to return to her home, be free of her fears and worries. 

She would find someone to trust and love.

Bog frowned. The same feeling he had when thinking of Marianne with Marsh swept through him again, only it wasn’t his brother that would have the privilege of the princess’ company. Why would it affect him so, if it wasn’t Marsh that was involved?

He was still thinking of the present situation when they arrived at the castle again. Bog saw the guards spread out in intervals around the grounds beyond the canyon per his orders and noticed one was waving to the small group in a frenzy. Swallowing bitter anxiety, and trying not to imagine the worst had happened during his absence, Bog flew down to the earthbound bridge facing the fortress’ entrance. 

“Sire! Griselda had told us to keep a lookout for you when you arrived!” the small amphibian-type goblin said. She was one of his regular attendants—one somewhat more competent than the others—called Stuff.

“What? Where is she?” Bog didn’t wait for an answer. The rest of the group will have to find their way around the castle and settle by themselves, with Stuff’s help. His brother and mother took an instant, top-priority spot in his mind.

“She’s with the prince!” Stuff called after him.

Bog flew down rapidly, aware that the princess was close behind. He passed the spiral staircase, and landed, heading directly to his brother’s room. The round door was ajar, and voices were coming from the small room, singing and humming that seemed vastly out of place for a time of injury and pain. Bog didn’t let the relaxed atmosphere to soothe him and entered without knocking.

_ ——————————————— _

It was fun, to a point, to ignore the king. 

After the djinn manifested herself again, Bog reacted poorly, to say the least. Marianne hadn’t seen him quite that angry before. He stormed off, looking nothing more than a big, scaly child. Marianne heard the sound of tree branches broken in the distance and ignored it, focusing on the speech Sugar Plum was giving. Something about  _ real love _ , and how the potion’s effects can only be countered by organic emotions replacing the manufactured ones. It seemed that there needed to be genuine, pre-existing feelings of love towards a person to wash away the potion from an infected system, and even then, the object of one’s affection had to be present and visible.

It took all Marianne had not to sneer and snort at the explanation and so-called antidote.

She  _ chatted  _ on the way back to the fortress—a clunky and clumsy activity for her—with Sunny, purposefully looking away from Bog as he occasionally tried to catch her eye. It was childish, she knew, but he had betrayed an unspoken code between them, and it hurt that he broke it. Even more disturbing, that encouraged her to ignore him further, was a simple fact that it did hurt.

Why should it hurt, whatever Bog did? 

When they reached the castle, Marianne saw the guards wave Bog down, and tell him of Griselda asking for him. Her heart squeezed in her chest when she realised just how long they had been gone from the prince. Desperately hoping he was all right, Marianne set herself ready to deal with the boy again, whether he will be singing or reaching for hugs.

She left Sunny and Plum at the entrance, gesturing for them to stay there before following at Bog’s heels to Marsh’s room, where the door was open, and the sound of laughter came through, giving her hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst hasn’t happened.

Bog went in first, and she bumped into him as he stopped just past the doorway.

Marsh was sitting up, cushions stacked behind his back to support him. There was a tray desk in front of him, scattered with petals, sticks and vines of all colours. The Queen Mother sat beside him, a similarly equipped tray over her lap.

“Marianne!” Marsh shouted, reaching a long, skinny arm towards her, his face taking a longing expression. 

She froze, her mouth agape. She didn’t dare to glance at Bog, suspecting he was in a similar state.

“What… what is that?” she asked, pointing at the object in the prince’s left hand, on his injured, bandaged and taped side. He tried to lift his arm while it rested in the sling to show her the small bundle, but it was obviously too painful to use. Marianne hurried to his side, resting her hand over his wrist, to soothe his efforts. 

“It’s for you,” the young prince took the little flower woven thing into his right hand and fastened it over Marianne’s wrist with a swift, agile twist of his fingers. It was made from the wildflowers of the forest that she’s glimpsed during her flights between the trees. The petals were a dusky pink, darker on their underside. Shaped into a loose sunflower pattern, it had a tiny white flower at its centre.

“For…  _ me _ ?” she whispered, caressing the corsage with shaking fingers. Even knowing the prince was under the influence of the love-potion, even knowing he would never have made this for her under any conventional terms, she couldn’t help but feel touched. No one had ever made her a gift like this. 

Of course, some suitors sought to marry her for her station, and her future as Queen. Their gifts were ones of cold jewels and metals, with no heart behind them. She turned them all away.

Marianne looked up into Marsh’s blue eyes, beseeching, hopeful, innocent. He meant only well with his gift. 

“Uh… I never… I don’t…”

“I hope you like it.” 

“This is…” Marianne choked and cleared her throat before speaking again. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

The prince’s responding smile was blinding. His dimples showed with an ear to ear grin that made Marianne grin back. He was a sweet boy and will make whomever he chooses in the future very, very happy. There was a part of Marianne that wished to be able to visit Marsh in the future, to check on him, be a part of his life. All the things she’d missed when her sister died. Marianne wanted to see him grow to be an adult.

To be more like… like Bog.

If… if she was to try to work out a better treaty with the forest… if she hadn’t ruined any possibility of it with her rash actions… Would the Bog King agree to renew negotiations? Would he be willing to start a better relationship with the Fields?

_ Probably not with me… He must hate me by now, just like everyone else. _

Marianne turned away from Marsh, hiding her face from everyone in the room. The confusing tangle of emotions coursing through her was not something she could work out at that moment. There were too many people here, too many eyes watching her. 

Griselda had risen from her seat, the same one Marianne herself had occupied the night before. She walked to her eldest son, touching Marianne on the arm with silent comfort as she passed. He gave her the bag he carried, containing everything he collected at the Valley. Marianne went over to the seat, ignoring the exchange between mother and son, pretending she couldn’t feel the family bubble the three were in. She looked under the armchairs and found the knife the king disarmed her from. After she returned it to its proper place in the belt under her arms, she felt composed enough to face the rest of the room again.

Immediately, both the prince and the king looked to her. Each had different expressions on their faces. Marsh looked smitten as if he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world. Bog looked questioning and demanding as if he wanted something from her, and whatever it was, was not pleasant. Marianne sighed and chose to simply go talk to their goblin mother, ignoring the other males.

“Queen Griselda, I hope you had a good night,” she greeted the older lady.

The goblin frowned, glancing at her youngest before answering Marianne. 

“I need to talk to you, sweetpea. And Bog, too.” The king in question looked up with a worried look. He stood by Marsh, fiddling with the petals and vines on the tray, one hand on his brother’s uninjured right shoulder.

“We’ll be right back, Marsh, stay here, all right?” Bog told his brother, walking towards the door where Marianne and Griselda were waiting. 

“No, Marianne, don’t leave! You just got here!” The prince reached out, and Marianne tried not to flinch at his attentions.

“No, no. Hey, buddy, don’t get up!” She rushed over to the bed again when he swung one leg almost out, preparing to rise. “I promise I won’t go far, and I won’t be long! Just stay  _ here.” _ Feeling guilty at the command. She watched as Marsh brought his leg back in, gasping with shallow breaths from the pain. He reached out and squeezed Marianne’s hand with his non-injured side, before collapsing back into the cushions. 

“I love you… Mari…anne…” he murmured.

“That’s right… Why don’t you have a little nap, now?” she coaxed, watching as the prince’s eyelids fluttered and shut. His hand going slack. Marianne gently lowered it to his trim chest, and acting on maternal instincts, she leaned down and gave the boy a peck on his forehead.

———————————————

Bog watched the princess tend to his brother, a bizarre, unfamiliar ache rising in his chest. She treated Marsh with a tenderness that was… endearing to see. He was aware she didn’t have to be quite so gentle with the prince, and her choices to be kind time and time again proved her true nature, more than anything else could have.

After Marsh was asleep, Marianne silently left the room following behind Bog and Griselda, the three going to another empty, similarly furnished and shaped space across the hall. 

“Did you get all you wanted to, from the Valley?” His mother asked, with no preamble.

“Aye, the weeds and roots I showed ye, as well as the one responsible for the potion,” Bog answered, his eyes catching Marianne’s, hoping she will get the hint to share her knowledge. After his… tantrum… the princess was the one to listen to everything the djinn had to say. He was too embarrassed to admit his behaviour to his mother, who will no doubt scold him for it like she had when he was little. 

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but in essence, Sugar Plum said that only real love can break the potion’s effects,” she told them both, shifting her gaze to Griselda, paraphrasing what the djinn explained to her about the potion’s workings.

_ Real love... What in the world does that mean? _

“Real love…” Griselda put a finger to her chin, echoing her son’s thoughts. “Marsh had never been in-love before… I don’t  _ think  _ so anyway…  _ Unless!” _

“Unless what, mom?” Bog bent, reaching for her small shoulder. If anyone knew about his brother’s love life, just as his own, Bog knew it would be his mother. She also went on and on, to his complete reluctance, about needing love and a mate in life. It was a constant issue for him since she kept pushing all sorts of goblin females on him, making Bog’s days sometimes extremely uncomfortable.

“In the early morning, your brother woke up and started rambling. He remembered none of it by the time he woke up again—I was forced to give him sleeping power to calm down—but he was talking and muttering about Marianne here, and also about a sunflower of some kind.” Griselda began pacing, her claw-tipped hands folding across her chest as she thought. “Now, I thought he meant an actual flower, that perhaps he compared Marianne to it. But his wording was wrong--he mentioned something about golden hair, or maybe it was golden eyes, it was quite hard to hear him over all of us shouting and carrying on the way we were.” The Queen Mother waved her small, blunt fingered hand in dismissal before concentrating again. “Do you think… is it possible…Maybe this Sunflower is a person, and not a flower or something metaphorical.”

“What does that mean?” Marianne asked, and Bog saw her brow crumbling with thought.

“It means that maybe if my boy was talking about golden eyes, he could have meant  _ you.  _ But if he meant golden  _ hair… _ He could have a sweetheart out there somewhere!” Griselda exclaimed, clapping her hands softly together, a smile growing on her wide mouth. “Now, don’t get me wrong, sweetpea, but this is fantastic news.” The goblin patted on the princess’ hand.

“Oh, I’m with you on this, don’t worry.”

“Great! So you’ll go with Bog?” Griselda padded to the door and wrenched it open. Bog had to reach out a hand to stop her, feeling utterly lost at the turn in the conversation.

“Mother, what are ye talking about?” he looked from the queen to the princess. His mother looked excited. Marianne looked troubled.

“You have to go look for this goblin, of course!”

—————

After a quick breakfast of berries and freshly baked raisin honey bread, Bog let Marianne know they will be searching the northern border first. Griselda packed two bundles for the pair, filled with fragrant, warm pastries and other snacks for the long day of flying they had ahead. With no more than a goodbye to Sunny and Sugar Plum, the two royals flew off in the direction of the far off, snow-peaked mountains to the north.

It made sense for the two of them to do the search themselves. Most of the goblins and forest dwellers were out in patrols and guard duty, and Bog wouldn’t leave his castle unattended while there was a potential threat around. Marianne reassured him that she was positive the fields would be searching the same way to the forest, and he only had to worry about his own territory. Bog accepted her statements without question, and resumed his eating pensively, staring at his plate. The princess had a short talk with Sunny too, explaining the situation and plans. The elf appeared to be wanting to say something, and tossed her head back and forth between Bog and Marianne, looking torn. There was a heavy silence while they shared food, and before long, it was time for goodbyes.

Marianne was quiet as she flew. There was a stinging pain in her back and wings that she tried to ignore, a pulsing headache in her head, and her eyes felt swollen and gritty. All in all, she was tired, and there was no point in either complaining of her exhaustion or moaning about her injury since the stakes were far too high than she could bear to risk. 

Marsh was getting worse, Roland was  _ still  _ out there somewhere, doing who knows what, love-dusted creatures were still being brought in to the Green Castle, and no one was even  _ close  _ to finding who or what is using the potion. There had been reports on a slippery creature that evaded all attempts at capture, but as of then, none had been able to catch it. 

She has assumed Roland had it, after his failed attempt at dusting her the night before, but now it seemed that something else possessed the wretched thing, traversing the Dark Forest and wreaking havoc as it went. 

It was a constant distraction, the image of the Green Knight looming above her, the pink poison tilted and almost peppering her with the dust within. Sugar Plum’s ridiculous notion of an antidote did nothing to comfort her, as she knew just how incapable her heart was of love. Love, she was more than painfully aware, would not protect her. Love was nothing she needed, and nothing she wanted. 

Bog was flying a little ahead, his wings sparkling iridescently as the little sun that escaped the thicket above shined on them. He was just as quiet, and Marianne supposed he was deep in thought. She expected his mind was on his brother, as hers was too, and the chaos being sown in his forest, and how it was Marianne’s fault. He must blame her for it, just as she blamed herself. Even with the delicate, fragile familiarity they had managed to construct over the long night, the Bog King had kept close but mostly silent, speaking only as needed.

_ Or rather, only silent around  _ me.

A soft sigh escaped Marianne’s lips. Hopes of recovering the lost friendship between Field and Forest were being crushed, without her even knowing she’d had them. Perhaps there was still a chance, slim as it may be, to save the diplomatic situation, yet. 

_ Would the king be willing to hear me out? _

“Bog King?” she called after a few more minutes she spent contemplating her words.

He dipped slightly, seeming startled by Marianne’s tentative voice. Bog slowed down just enough to fly next to her, turning wide, blue eyes in her direction. Blue eyes that made her forget the careful speech she had come up with.

“Aye, princess?” 

She took a beat too long to reply, a secret wish for him to call her by her name and not her title, blooming across her mind. 

_ Marianne. Call me Marianne. _

“Er… Is there… Will there…” Bog’s leafy forehead furrowed as she stumbled over her words, but he waited patiently, none the less. His attention gave Marianne courage while making her clumsy at the same time. After playing the ‘cold shoulder’ card, she thought he may be more resistant.

_ Come on, Marianne, buck up. You won’t know unless you ask.  _

She took a deep breath, looking away from Bog so she wouldn’t lose track of her thoughts again. “I told you already of a long-gone dream of mine. The fields and forest, united, stronger together.” She glanced at Bog, and his steady focus on her encouraged the princess to keep on and just say the words she wished to say. “I understand I… that I made some mistakes. I can admit to them. But I still wish to speak with… with you. About this. About our kingdoms and what’s best for our people.

“I wanted you to know that… that I still want that. That we of the field still want that. I  _ know  _ we can benefit each other. I  _ know _ there are ways where open trade and borders would make our people more prosperous and… and happier.”

The king looked ahead, wings blurring as he flew, looking for all the world as though he was swimming in the air with gentle, graceful motions. The dry sound of his flight was soothing, even though his continuing silence made her want to grit her teeth with anxiety. But, Marianne waited for him to reply with as much patience as she could muster, and just before she was about to open her mouth to either take it all back or maybe try harder to convince him, he spoke.

“I never knew the fairies of the field well, ye know,” he began, his voice soft and retrospective, still watching the path in front of them. “I took the throne at fourteen and followed the path my own father had led us on. The few fairies I met in my youth were flighty, easily frightened creatures that deserved no respect in my eyes. They had all flown away as soon as they saw me.” Marianne saw Bog peek from the corner of his eye at her, a smile fighting to spread on his face. 

“But, I--!” 

“Aye.  _ You.”  _ Bog interrupted her. “ _ You,  _ Crown Princess Marianne of the Fairyfields, are no more flighty, easily frightened, or undeserving of respect than I am. Yer…  _ different.  _ Than them. The other fairies, I mean.”

_ Did… Did he just really say what I think he just said? What do I say  _ back?

“I admit, I have also been thinking…” he hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Whether it was, in fact, time to revisit the treaty. I also think there are ways our realm could co-exist with mutual gain and profit. And… and knowing ye are in charge, that ye are in power, makes me… It just changes things.”

Still watching out to the forest ahead, Marianne glimpsed what  _ might,  _ if she was to be so bold as to assume, have been blushing. Soft, pale pink showed on the one sharp cheekbone she could see, and the king’s mouth was pressed tightly together, as though he was halting anything else from being said.

“Wow…” 

“Eh?” Bog turned at her voice, looking confused.

“Ah! I mean, um, yes, I… I agree. When this… This whole mess is over...” Marianne tripped over her words again, a blush of her own warming her cheeks and neck, still sneaking looks at Bog’s expression to get a gauge at his thoughts. He looked almost as awkward as she felt.

“Of… Of course, when we… Uh, when we sorted the present issues, and if… if you are still willing to, perhaps… visit the Dark Forest, then we could work things out.” Bog was gesturing back and forth in the space between them with his free hand, and Marianne realised that as they spoke, that space had become increasingly smaller. “Between… us. The Forest and the Fields, I mean, of course.

“That sounds great!” she spurted without thinking, grinning with relief at Bog’s easy acceptance. He agreed, he actually agreed! Marianne tried her hardest not to do a happy spin in the air, but in her tired state, she caved into the impulse. Just one small twirl and she was back to her regular flutter.

Bog grinned back, blue eyes shining in the early morning sunshine as he took in her childish behaviour. Marianne saw just how one single smile could turn a face that at first glance seemed intimidating and unwelcoming, to one that made her broken heart suddenly thump painfully in her chest.

_ Ouch… What was that? _

The sudden pain in her chest was alarming, but Marianne chose to push it aside. The first lumpy, mud-made huts appeared in small groups ahead, announcing the fact she had arrived at the first goblin village on their list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the Dark Forest. Don't you?
> 
> We're getting close, now...


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens.

_“Are ye sure? You’ve only seen her five years before?”_

_“I believe so, your majesty, but she was cloaked and unwell at the time.”_

_“Do ye know where she lives?”_

_“I do not, but maybe someone in one of the villages to the west would. The girl’s parents were going in that direction when they passed here.”_

The green and grey mottled goblin pointed one talon in the direction she meant, her long dagger-like teeth gleamed as she spoke to her King. Bog chose to bring Marianne to the northern border to search for Marsh’s mysterious lady friend first, as there was a clump of five villages located there, increasing their chances of either finding the girl in question or clues about her current location. The goblin he interviewed looked at him imploringly, waiting for further instructions. 

_“I understand. Still, spread the word. We are searching for a female, possibly named Sunshine, with golden hair. Any that know of her are requested to come to the Green Castle to report to me.”_

“ _Will do. But, I warn you, your majesty--the group were travelling in secret. They may not be forward with their child._ ” She nodded a final time in goodbye, her fish-fin ears flapping slightly as she waddled away to follow the King’s command, giving the Fairy Princess behind him one last curious look.

Bog turned back to Marianne, who was listening intently, even though she could understand none of the Goblin spoken. Her sharp eyes followed Bog’s hand gestures closely, which made him all the more aware of how often he used his hands when he spoke. 

The princess’ eyebrows rose with a silent question, and Bog shrugged in answer. “She knows nothing. Same as the other towns: go west.”

Marianne groaned and rolled her shoulders awkwardly, bringing Bog’s weary eyes to attention at the tiny creases on the corners of her mouth. Creases that appeared to be caused by pain.

“Are ye all right, princess?” he asked, taking a step closer without thinking, a hand raised to... 

_To what? Touch her?_

She flushed a delicate pink over her cheeks and nose and stopped fidgeting as she looked away from the questioning gaze, her fingers twisting in the edges of her tunic. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“We can rest if ye need to. There’s only one village left.” Bog offered, but really, he could have done with some kind of respite, himself. He’d been awake for over a day with little to no rest from activity, and a muscle in his back ached.

“We can’t! Marsh is waiting for me, and for you… It’s almost noon now. Your mother can’t keep him under sleeping powder all the time,” she said as she began pacing up and down the mossy clearing, trampling a patch of clovers. Bog followed her with his eyes, becoming more and more suspicious as she started talking faster and faster. “And there’s Roland too. I mean, where the hell is he now? What’s he planning?” Marianne brought her hands to her head, clutching at the hair there. The comfrey, yarrow and clay mixture over her injured knuckles cracking and crumbling slightly, leaving tiny particles of dust among the dark strands. “And the potion… That wretched thing… Where is THAT?” She turned suddenly to Bog, as though asking him about it. 

Her wild, honey-gold eyes gleamed, burning into his. Her soft-looking mouth grimaced in dismay, and her hair stood on end. And Bog couldn’t help but think of just how lovely the princess looked.

_What, what, what? What was_ that _?_

“I… don’t know…?”

Marianne combed a hand through her hair again, sighing, letting the other drop. “I know… I’m just so ti--“ She froze, catching the word before it was finished, but the damage had been done. 

Bog narrowed his eyes and said, “Let’s just go and have lunch, shall we?”

———————

Lunch consisted of dark brown, dense bread, baked with wild nut bits and dried berries, and a few fruit pastries. His mother had packed two whittled-bark cups, to make drinking out of the many fresh spring water streams, from the melted snow that flowed off the frozen peaks of the nearby mountains, easily managed. Bog’s cup was far bigger than the princess’, but he gave it to her nevertheless to fill with water. He laid the small array of foodstuff out over a flat, exposed root next to a large, imposing oak tree, choosing a spot shaded but dappled with flecks of light. She returned, cradling the larger cup to her chest, trying not to get any spilt on her tunic. Bog didn’t bother hiding his amused smile, feeling too drained to do much more than sitting crossed legged, munching on the soft, fragrant rye bread, and drink from the cup Marianne filled for him. 

The princess chewed slowly, looking carefully at the food before trying each bite, testing everything with great concentration on her small face. Clearly, there were things she’d never had before, and whenever she enjoyed a second taste out of anything, Bog smiled with pleasure. 

_See, she likes it_ here. 

_Liking the food is not liking it_ here.

_Well, she agreed--no, she asked you_ first _\--about the forest and field’s reconciliation._

_Yes, sure, but, that is for the benefit of her kingdom._

_That still means she will willingly spend more time with ye._

_She might try to make it, so Marsh or someone else will act as the ambassador._

_Marsh is too young, and no one else is qualified, and ye know it. Stop making excuses._

_I’m not making excuses! It’s nothing but the truth._

_The truth is, and ye are too big of a git to admit it, is that ye like her._

Bog shook his head, trying to rid himself of the pesky voice. There was too much going on for him to develop a fondness for anyone, especially the Crown Princess. She was not someone that would agree to anything... _like that._.. from him, anyway. Marianne was a brilliant warrior, with the best interests of her kingdom at heart. She would do anything, including 'tolerating' lasting relations with the forest folk, for her people. 

_Ye like her._

So, what if he did? It would be hard to find anything to _dislike_ about the fairy. She was compelling, and while lacking in confidence in some areas, she excelled in others. Strong and wise, with patience. She’d shown every critical quality in a leader. 

_And beautiful. So very beautiful._

So what if she was? The appeal that virtually dripped off her was alien. Admirable, but from a distance. 

_And her smile…_

So… So, what, if her smile was exquisite as it was rare?...

Bog’s eyes drifted shut as he relaxed further, melting into the comfort of tree bark, hands going slack in his lap and his legs curling up to his chest. All thoughts of the fairy princess spinning him into a lulling sleep.

————— 

Marianne noted the moment the Bog King’s head fell back, leaning against the tree he sat beside. In his sleep, all the harsh lines of his face relaxed and became soft. He looked suddenly much younger, and even more like his little brother. The overlapping leaf scaling that grew in rows over his head from the place his eyebrows ought to have been reminded her of something, and she silently scooted over to lean close, peering at them. Her hand itched to touch one if only to feel the texture of it. Was it dry and crinkly, like a fallen leaf? Was it smooth and soft, like skin? Or maybe it had a completely new texture to it, something she’d never felt before. 

She sighed, and the breath she released washed over Bog, moving the leaves delicately. There was a gentle, dry sound, sort of like a pile of leaves in autumn. Bog didn’t move or change his expression in his sleep, so after deliberating for a few seconds, she blew a calculated breath again, just to recreate the sound. 

This time, he shifted slightly, his face scrunched up, before releasing a deep sigh and relaxing again. One arm moving blindly from its position on his lap towards Marianne, touching her hand where it rested on the plush, mossy ground. 

He was warm in his sleep. So very warm. Marianne remembered how he held her again after she almost fell to the ground. In a moment of madness, she’d clung to the thing that saved her from the approaching ground, mind dizzy and disoriented. But, before that, she’d never realised just how soft, how comforting smooth wood could be.

_Or maybe it’s just Bog._

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it wasn’t. The real question wasn’t about that, though. The real question was at which point he will betray her. At what point he will turn around, his demeanour changed, his honest blue eyes turning flat and empty. When will he use the strength with which he used to protect her, to hurt her? Where will she find herself, then?

More questions arose in the wake of others, and none had answers. There was no way of telling what, when and where. No way for her to know for sure. There was only waiting. Slow torture that it was, to wait for someone to betray you. 

_And they do betray you. Bog will be no different._

_But, will he though?_

_Yes. There’s no doubt about that._

_He’d shown no reason to do so._

_Not yet, anyway._

_Why not_ try _?_

_You know why._

_I think you need to learn_ how _._

_And I think you need to shut up._

_You need to loosen up._

_Why am I arguing with myself?_

_Because you know I’m right and you’re too stubborn to accept it._

Sighing again, Marianne felt her pleasantly full stomach drag her energy level down. She leaned back against the exposed tree root beside Bog, knowing at the least, if nothing would attack him in his sleep, as he is the King, then it was likely nothing would approach her too. It was a solace--unlikely, unexpected, and unexplainable as it was--that Bog was there. 

Marianne shifted, twitching her sore wings to her sides. Not wanting to wake Bog, she kept her hand where it was, with his resting over it. Secretly, she took solace in the unintended gesture, his large, calloused palm comfortably heavy over her much smaller fingers.

_Maybe… Maybe I’ll let myself feel a little safe, if_ he’s _there, too._

.

.

Commotion in the underbrush alerted Marianne to something crashing about the greenery. She’d woken from a dreamless sleep to find the bright jade of the forest canopy had become a darker, muted green as the sun hung lower in the sky. Jumping up and pulling out her sword, she was aware of Bog already standing, his staff at the ready. He didn’t glance in her direction and focused entirely on the oncoming disturbance.

“Marianne, are ye ready?” he asked, deep voice made hoarser by sleep.

“Yes. I’ll take the right flank.” She was incredibly awake. With energy humming and buzzing through her limbs, Marianne thought she'd never known just how restful a nap could be. 

“Good.” Bog brought his wings up, twitching them and his shoulder plates together in warning to whoever thought so foolishly to bring chaos to his forest. Marianne couldn’t help but take one last peek at the way his brilliantly reflecting wings connected to the stalks on his back before the noise was too close to allow any distractions. 

———————————————

Three almost identical fairy soldiers in matching, burnished copper armour burst out of the ferns, rolling over themselves as the fourth creature skipped nimbly between them, pushing off each in turn. They made an awful racket of bickering between themselves and metal rattling.

Bog noted the fairies as spear-wielding, before his gaze attached itself to the glow in the white rabbit-like creature’s curled, scaly tail. 

_The potion! It has the potion!_

Marianne gave a tiny gasp beside him, noticing the same thing he had. For a wild second, he wondered whether the guards were there on her behest.

_No, no, when… Why would… How could she have been able to summon them?_

He didn’t have a chance to ponder the situation further, leaping into action with a burst of speed as he saw the princess take off in the direction of the fairies. 

“Stop! Cease this _Now_!” she commanded, coming as close as she could to the tangle of limbs and wings.

The soldiers looked shaken at the sudden appearance of the princess but didn’t pause their momentum. They continued sailing towards the white creature, the potion, and Bog, who already reached for the former two.

“I said, _STOP_ ,” Marianne ordered again and raised the sword to point at the soldier in the front. Evidently, she was unused to being disobeyed and seemed less than pleased at being ignored. Despite the situation, Bog’s lips twitched, wanting to spread in a smile at Marianne’s outraged expression. However, the three fairies rushed on, bumping into each other, distracting him.

“I will get it!” one shouted, shoving his companion back.

“No, _I_ will!” said the second, using a leg to trip up the first.

“You’re both useless, it will be me that brings the potion back to him!” the third exclaimed, throwing his arms out to block the other two.

“You’re an idiot! You let that thing get away!” the second accused, trying to push forward again.

“You’re both stupid! I said cut it off at the stream, didn’t I?” the first piped up again, almost cutting around the third’s raised arms.

“There was that giant lizard! What did you think we could have done?” The third turned around slightly, to frown at his brother.

“The thing almost love-dusted the lizard! A few more seconds and we would have had it under my control!” The first scowled, pushing his nose close to the third’s face. 

“Anyway, look here, you fools! That goblin has the creature!”

The sudden shout from the second froze all three brothers, as they skittered back, away from Bog’s sharp teeth, wicked claws, and metal staff.

The triplets looked at Bog in unison, who was holding the odd animal by its ears. It twittered and chirped, making tiny noises of complaint at its mistreatment. Bog lifted it to his eye-level, and restraining the tail that still coiled around the love-potion, he spoke to the creature.

“Ye’ve been causing lots of trouble around here, little one.” Bog levelled his stern gaze at the thing. 

It gave back a long sequence of squeaks. 

“Ah, is that _so_?” Bog slid his eyes to the fairies, calculating. They gulped loudly, and he was almost entertained to hear the rattle of shaking armoured knees.

He lowered the little rodent to the ground, where it continued pipping. He told Bog his name was Imp.

“You _saw_ him, did ye?”

Hissing and miming of a man pouncing on something answered Bog. Imp widened his black, beady eyes in mock suspense as he told the story of how he ended up with the love-potion. His long ears waggled along the trilling he produced. Bog paid the little creature only half a mind when he saw Marianne sneak behind the trio, sword sheathed and arms stretched and ready to pounce.

As the one-sided conversation continued, Bog saw Marianne slink behind the three fairies, using their distraction to her advantage. She neared the one at the back, and with a soundless leap, she bounced, wrapping a strong arm around the fairy’s neck, crushing the windpipe.

She wrapped her other arm around the unsuspecting fairy’s waist and lowered him to the ground as silently as she could. Bog produced loud exclamations in response to what Imp chittered about, to hide the rattle of armour, so the other fairies wouldn’t hear.

When Imp reached the point of the story where he witnessed the man that attacked the princess entering the forest with another group of armed fairies, Bog’s attention wandered from Imp to Marianne. He tried to steal a look at the princess discreetly, but the soldiers followed Bog’s gaze and turned to see Marianne dragging their unconscious brother away.

She straightened, dropping the third fairy in a tangled heap on the floor, grinning a broad smile that exposed most of her teeth and made her look more than a little crazy. In one fluid motion, the fairy brothers brought their spears up to point the weapons at their princess. 

_Treasonous fools!_

Marianne’s smile altered, turning dark and dangerous. “Oh, hello, boys.” She drew her sword out again and took a few steps away from the one on the ground.

Imp whistled, and bounded to the side for distraction, shaking the love-potion in the air for emphasis. One of the soldiers took the bait, fluttering closer and muttering what he thought were enticing words.

“Come here… Come on, you ugly little beast…” 

Bog sneered and swung his staff hard, crashing the butt of it into the guard, smack between the wings. It was a non-fatal blow, but incapacitating enough to keep the silly fairy down.

When the fairy crashed, he fell upon Imp, thrusting the potion straight out of the white animal’s long, bald tail.

The pink vial sailed into the air, a light spattering of dust leaving the suddenly open container, the trajectory aimed directly to Marianne as she battled the other guard, her sword easily knocking the spear aside. Bog felt his heart stop and almost dropped his staff as he flew, as fast as lightning, to stop the particles from spreading over the princess. Just before the small bottle flipped in the air and released the potion, Bog’s large hand caught it. Relief made his body weak, and he landed close to the princess as she finished off the solider with one flip kick to the head.

_Use it._

“You got it!” she exclaimed grinning. Her eyes were shockingly bright, the amber gold of them glimmering in the soft light of the afternoon. 

_Use it._

“Bog?” Marianne’s face fell as Bog continued to silently stare at her, potion uncorked and ready at his side.

_Use it now._

Her eyes flitted from his face to the potion and back again. Marianne’s eyes dimmed, and her brows came down to shade them. From the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw her arm tense, the slender fingers of her right hand clutching the grip of the sword.

“Put the potion down, Bog,” she told him, her chin pointing to the ground.

_Use it before she gets away._

“I’ll give you to the count of ten to put it down.” Marianne steadied her weapon, her frown deepening.

_You must do it now._

“One.”

_Don’t you want her to love you?_

“Two.”

_She’s special and amazing, and you will never earn her love._

“Three.”

_She’ll never love you, otherwise._

“Four.”

_Marianne finds you hideous._

“Five.”

_How many time had she run away from you?_

“Six.”

_No one will ever know you used it._

“Seven.”

_Use me to make her love you._

“Eight.”

_USE ME._

“Nine.”

_Don’t you want her? Don’t you… love her?_

“Te-“

Bog gasped. The wicked thing he held slipped from his hand to fall to the ground, thankfully not breaking and poisoning the earth.

The entire time he touched it, an evil voice tempted him and held him, prisoner, to its whispers. Bog stood, frozen and caught in the sinister grasp of the potion as it attempted to force him to use it on Marianne. 

Make her love me? _Make_ her? 

And it almost worked. The allure of having Marianne love him was incredible. Addicting.

Impossible.

_Too good to be true._

Ironic, that the one last attempt whatever possessing the potion had tried to force Bog to use it, was the one to set him free. He had fought against the whispering influence--tooth and claw, growling and snarling. 

But it couldn’t be right, he told himself. It must have lied. Acknowledging her was not loving her. Marianne was… unattainable. So beyond his reach, that even _toying_ with the idea of loving her was too painful.

The voice was right, though, he realised, a sudden pain flaring in his skull.

He _was_ in love with Marianne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, and that it wasn't too sappy :)
> 
> warning: Angst ahead, after this chapter!
> 
> Comments and kudos is literal food. Feed the writers, people!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potions and princesses and other shenanigans.

The sight of Bog holding the love-potion, his hand lit by its unappealing pink glow, blue eyes wide and staring, his mouth moving silently with words she couldn’t hear, was not something Marianne will soon forget.

Horrifying as it was, she had no choice but to do her best to disarm the Goblin King from the potion. By any means necessary. 

Marianne tried not to think of wielding her sword against Bog, not piercing his thick armour with it, not his prone, tall form on the ground or the way his bright eyes would go dull. She tried to focus only on the next count, the next number, and pray to anything that may listen that Bog would see reason and drop the potion. Her heart beat wildly, and Marianne felt fear at the possible outcome that she'd never felt before.

“Seven.”

_Please, please, please drop it. Just drop the potion._

“Eight.”

_Don’t make me do this._

“Nine.”

_PLEASE DROP IT._

“Te—”

Gasping, his entire body shaking in a head to toe shudder, the king opened his clawed hand, allowing the potion to drop to the soft, mossy ground. Thank the stars, it remained unbroken and unspilled. Who knew how the pink dust would have affected the forest's environment, evil as it was?

Bog dropped to his knees, clutching at his head and groaning. Marianne hesitated for a few seconds, watching him for any sudden movements before she quickly used the tip of her sword to shove the potion aside, clumsily corking it again. The little white creature neared the king, chirping and waggling its long white ears, its tail thrashing from side to side as he crawled over. The creature turned concerned, beady black eyes at Marianne and she shrugged impotently, completely at a loss. 

What caused Bog pain? Why did he behave in that way? And why, for the love of the sun and the moon, had he held the potion in his hand, looking for all the world like he was about to dust her? Why did he stand there, staring at her like that? Something off had happened, and Marianne would have bet every single one of her blades and swords it had something to do with the love-potion. 

She winced when Bog gave another quiet groan, his hands falling limply to claw at the soft ground. Marianne took another step closer, sheathing the sword, feeling a yearning to help him well in her chest. One more step, and another, and she stood in front of the king. Even on his knees and bent, he almost reached Marianne’s chest. 

“No… stay back…” he huffed, his voice strained. 

“I want to help.” 

“Ye can’t. Marianne, please,” he choked out, still digging his sharp nails in the moss. “Just stay away. I could hurt ye.”

“You won’t.” 

“I… I almost… Oh, _S_ _tars_ , I almost…” 

“You didn’t.” Marianne fell to her knees and put her hands on his arms. “You dropped it.”

“I’m no better than that scum that tried the same thing, Marianne!” Bog suddenly looked up to meet her eyes, his wings rising stiffly behind him in agitation. The blue seared her to the core. He looked tortured, as though his heart was breaking. The expression made her swallow a lump down with its intensity.

“I don’t know what happened, but Bog, that wasn’t you. You should have seen yourself. It was like the potion possessed you, or something!” she tried to convince him. He shouldn’t blame himself for something that wasn’t his fault—not after he saved her from the potion spilling on her.

Bog still looked like he was burning alive, but confusion and hope began cutting through. “It did…?”

“Yes! You were muttering silently and gaping and—” Marianne shivered, recollecting the way the Goblin King stood with the pink bottle in his grasp. “It… looked like the potion was almost… it almost looked like… your eyes were turning _pink_.”

“ _What_?” He boggled.

“Yeah, it was _weird.”_

“Oh, gods.” 

Her hands still rested lightly over Bog’s arms. As he lifted his head from where he hung it, their faces became close together. Bog’s leafy brows furrowed, and his mouth twitched beneath his long, pointy nose. His eyes scanned her face restlessly.

“It’s okay,” she said, trying for a soothing tone. “We have the potion now. It can’t hurt anyone else, anymore.” 

“Marianne… I…” 

She rubbed her hands on the tough, smooth armour over Bog’s forearms, her thumb touching the underside, where he had only exposed skin. The thick bark-like material protecting him only looked abrasive, while being pleasant, even soft, to the touch. “It’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I… I think I—”

Whatever Bog was about to say was cut off as one of the fairy soldiers began waking up with a groan. Bog’s face twisted with rage, an emotion Marianne had yet to see on his face in its entire, terrifying glory, stark and fully exposed in the daylight. 

“Ugh…” said one, and before the fairy could complete his thought, Bog was there, long claws digging into the bottom edge of the chest plate, making deep grooves.

“Who do ye work for, ye spineless little fiend?” Bog snarled, easily lifting the soldier high above the ground with just one hand. “Ye clearly are not loyal to yer princess or king.” He gave the helpless fairy a good shake. “So _who else_?”

Marianne stepped forward and laid a hand on Bog’s arm again, gesturing for him to lower the fairy down to her level. He met her eyes, a confused look on his still snarling face before he relaxed. With another warning growl, the king complied, curling his lips in a sneer. 

“You’re Greg, aren’t you?” Marianne directed her gaze to the whimpering fairy held above the ground.

“No, I’m Gary,” he choked out, clearly terrorised by Bog’s unbreakable clutch on his breastplate, his wings flaring uselessly behind him. With the imposing king's tight grip, there was no way he could fly away.

“Okay. Gary, have you met anyone strange, or new? Today or yesterday?” Marianne asked, trying to keep her head considering Bog’s thinly veiled rage.

“Strange? No. But, my brother, Guy, he met the new captain.” 

“The new captain?” she coaxed.

“Yeah, the king declared it this morning. Greenwood was relieved of his position, and the king gave it to the new captain, just a few hours ago!” Gary choked out. 

“What happened to Greenwood?” Confused, Marianne's wings twitched, an icy finger of dread running down her spine. 

“He failed the king! He failed you, princess!” In his self-righteousness, Gary forgot Bog was there, so focused on Marianne as he was.

“What? No, he didn’t. He followed my instructions!” 

Why do I feel like I won’t like his answer?

“But… the new captain said he saw the goblins steal the potion from the fugitive, love-dust and capture you! He said… he said not to take your orders, 'cause you weren’t yourself!”

~~~~~~~~

Bog’s shock at the fairy guard’s words quickly dissipated back to his previous scorching anger. He shook the silly man again until his teeth chattered, wishing he could dig sharp claws into the soft belly under the flimsy metal.

“Does yer princess look love-dusted?!” he all but roared. “Does she look like anyone’s captive?!” 

“Ahhh! P… please, s... s… st… stop!!” 

“Bog!” The only voice that could reach him in that moment called out. “We need to question the fool, not scramble his brain until he’s useless! Besides, he is _my_ subject, and under _my_ jurisdiction!”

“But, he… They all…! Marianne, ye…” Bog turned his head to look at the princess. Small, lithe, determined. Honey-gold eyes stared him down. Even from her short height, she had a presence to her that Bog could not refute. 

_She’s right. Of course, she’s right. They are her subjects, and I cannot do a damned thing to keep her safe. Nothing that she cannot do herself._

Marianne sighed at his reluctant nod, relaxing her fierce scowl as her face took a deeply calculating look. “Have you seen the new captain yourself, Gary?” she asked the fairy.

“I saw him from a distance, your highness!” Gary squeaked, his eyes flitting to and from Bog’s furious face and open snarl as if he couldn't help himself.

“What colour were his wings?” she asked, and Bog saw Marianne struggle not to grit her teeth at having to pull each tiny morsel of information from the guard with pincers. 

“He had them under a cloak, your highness!”

“Oh, for the love of... What _do_ you know that is of any use at all?”

“Ah… Ahm…” Gary deliberated, trying to find some useful information.

“What about my father? What are the king’s direct orders?” 

“The new captain sa—”

“I don’t care about this ‘suspiciously unnamed new captain’! I want to know what my father’s orders are!”

“Well… No one has seen the king since sunrise.”

~~~~~~~~

For the thousand’s time, Dagda cursed his paunchy belly and poorly maintained wings.

He was in a high floor of the castle, going over some old documents from years before, when the Bramble King was still living, and if not for his incapacity to travel easily as the rest of his troops, he would be out there, and not stuck pushing paper and breathing dust.

Part of the old king regretted the kingdom's falling out. Many generations ago, the fields and forest were ruled together, bound by marriage between the two ruling families. A prince of the Fairies, and a queen of the Dryads. There was peace between all the denizen of the two realms. Elves, goblins, brownies, fairies, dryads, all lived peacefully together, the primrose border merely a formality as the two locations bled into one another, borderline all but disappearing in an extended period of peace and amiability. 

No two history books agreed to what precisely caused the division once more. There were rumours of the royal children beginning a feud which ended in each taking half of the kingdom to themselves. Some say another royal family—either the Dryads or the Fairies, it was unclear which—arrived, forcing the original rulers to evacuate and make space for the newcomers. There were other reports, old wives' tales, speaking of treachery and treason among the royal family. Unforgivable actions that befell the single kingdom, splitting it in two.

In whatever case it may have been, it was all rather dull and uninteresting event that happened centuries, if not thousands, of years prior, Dagda thought, as he continued digging through the archives. He wasn’t exactly sure what he searched for, only that he would know when he saw it, vague as the instruction was. Dull, uninteresting and brain-numbing it may have been, but vital for his daughter, so he was told, and for his eyes only.

With Captain Greenwood’s failure to protect the Crown Princess, another more competent fairy stepped in to fulfil the role of Captain of the Guard. Dagda had not much time with him, but it was instantly obvious that his knowledge and competency was far better fitting to retrieving the heir back to where she belonged—away from the goblins that allowed the Fairy Queen’s death.

Dagda gripped the edge of the table he sat beside, waves of disgust rolling over him as he imagined Marianne deep within the cruel clutches of the Dark Forest.

It was their fault. The owl had come from the forest, and to the forest, it returned. If not for the wretched thing, his sweet Catelyn and his baby girl Dawn would still be alive. Dagda took a deep breath, fighting against the urge to force his ineffective wings to fly to the Dark Forest, grab his remaining daughter and bring her home to where she was safe. 

He knew that Marianne was capable and strong. It was for those reasons he allowed her to represent the army in those times a need called for it. Dagda would trust Marianne blindly with the kingdom and its civilians. 

But Marianne was also rash. She had a fire raging within her, brilliant and bright and terrifying—and all hidden away. With a flinch, he recalled the funeral of his wife and infant daughter. Still to that day, it caused him to pain to know they had only retrieved scraps of the queen’s magnificent peachy-pink wings along with the blanket in which she had wrapped the six-month-old princess, during their diplomatic visit to one of the elf villages. The eight-year-old remaining princess had attended the sombre event with such stony face and silence, that some courtiers had commented on her lack of emotion. Dagda had been so focused on his heart-wrenching grief to notice what damage the whispers were wrecking—tainting Marianne’s character to be one hardhearted and unsympathetic. Dagda suspected he was one of the few aware of the young princess’ true sensitive and kind nature. 

For years the king had tried to protect Marianne from harm. Time and time again he distanced himself, keeping his depression and struggles a secret from his daughter in a foolish attempt to not make her life more difficult. 

After the mess with Roland, the rumours about Marianne grew more blatant as she gave up the pretences. Her cool, impersonal outlook became fierce and haughty, protecting what Dagda knew to be a broken, sore heart. The guards had a rota between them—bets and personal bests of how long each could stand against the fairy princess in a spar. They took turns to accept her challenges. Dagda would watch from afar, proud of his daughter’s strength and grace, concerned for the sadness he felt when he looked upon her, fearful of her future as queen.

How could she ever rule, when the people feared her? 

Fear may be an excellent motivator, but an unstable one. If at any time Marianne was brought low, would it cause the people to revolt?

There were so many years between the young child Marianne had once been. The king’s mistakes were far too many to bridge the chasm. He had caused her pain; he knew now, in his distance.

The sound of footsteps came up the narrow spiral staircase that led to the archive room, halting the train of thought and memory. Dagda hurriedly wiped his eyes, pushing away the last thoughts of Marianne out of his mind to face the newcomer.

The new captain, a fairy called Finn, entered the room. The long, green cape he wore tied to his shoulder guards swished and shifted on the stone floor, his burnished bronze armour glinting dully in the faint light. He bowed in greeting. 

“Your majesty. How does your search go?” he asked as he unbent, quick eyes scanning the piles of scrolls and dusty ledgers that were laid on the tables. 

“Slow and dull, Captain. Tell me again why we cannot delegate this?” The king pursed his lips petulantly. 

“There are secrets, your excellence, forgotten and lost to the ages, in these tomes. A way to turn the forest dwellers’ power against them. I am sure of it. And that is not a secret we ought to share.” The captain gestured lightly around, passing a hand over the powdery dust that was heaped everywhere. He rubbed his dirty fingers together, looking closely at them, his long brown hair covering half his face. “The goblins that stole the princess must pay. Don’t you agree, your majesty?” 

Finn looked up then, his brown eyes bore into Dagda's green eyes, and the pressure of their gaze was heavy. Taking a deep breath, Dagda coughed as he inhaled a mouthful of motes.

“I… I do not wish for war, Captain.”

“They started the war when looting our stores and warehouses. The goblins incited it when they took the princess to their disgusting, dangerous midst,” the captain said, his voice becoming sharper. “Would you lose your sole heir to them?”

“ _NO_!” Dagda shouted. “We allow them their raids… It’s part of a deal struck with the Bramble King long ago… But they’ve never taken one of the fields, and certainly not a princess…” he sighed.

“These are unprecedented times, your majesty. Do you agree that as the Captain of the Guard I should take every action I could against the goblins to save the princess from their grasp?”

Dagda felt a sudden pressure in the air around the other fairy. It began as a subtle shift in his mind, until images of Marianne damaged, hurt, wingless… tortured, swam around in his head. The horrifying thoughts spinning him into a panic and he heard himself speak as though from a distance. “Yes, do everything in our power to bring Marianne home. Allow nothing to get in your way.”

There was a sudden relief in his mind. The panic that struck him receded to the dark place whence it came from. Dagda sighed, and the Captain backed away, the cape around his shoulders shifting the dust around into tiny whirlwinds around the room. The Fairy King sat down heavily on one of the few free chairs and tried to calm his breathing.

“I will relay your message, my king. Nothing will get in our way.” With a final bow, Finn left.

“What am I doing?” Dagda asked the empty room, before he rose again and shuffled around the heaps of papers, unsure what he searched for, but knowing it was something his daughter needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will you hang that up, please, Plum?”

The creature that must have been Plum swooped down, gathering the tail end of a banner. “Where do you want this, again?” 

“Right at the top of the arch. Do you see what I mean?”

“On it.”

Griselda stood in the doorway. The elf and the other glowing creature were busily decorating the dining hall splendidly, only she wasn’t sure what it was _for_ , exactly. 

“ _AHM_!” 

Bog had told her that the elf and the other were temporary guests in the Fortress. He also asked Griselda to monitor the pair, lest they caused mischief. Her son hadn't explicitly told her so, but a mother always knew what her child said between the lines.

And Bog did not trust one or both of the pair.

The two females jumped, and instantly the glowing being came to hover protectively next to the elf.

“Oh! We didn’t mean to be a bother!” the elf said, her forehead creasing with worry. “We were just walking around, and I saw that there was a love-leaf bush behind the castle… and… I just… I wanted Bog and Marianne—“

“What? What’s this about my son and the princess?” Despite herself, Griselda’s alarm bells tolled, her curiosity piquing. 

The elf appeared embarrassed but excited. Her brown eyes shone when she grinned. “Well... I could see that… you know… Bog and… and Marianne seemed like they _liked_ each other and—”

“WHAT?” Griselda squealed, startling the elf and making her companion throw a blue hand in front of her. “ _Bog_? He _likes_ Marianne?” 

“I _think_ he does, yeah!” the elf pushed in front of the one called Plum, stepping closer to Griselda, nodding her head enthusiastically. 

“And you’re saying _she_ likes him _back_?” 

“Yeah! I mean… If you saw how they look at each other, or _not_ look at each other, it’s kind of obvious.”

Even as she felt the shock rocking her to the core, Griselda’s keen mind began recounting the moments she had seen the princess and her son together. Granted, they were only a few, and considering the fact her primary concern during the night was her youngest son’s injuries, she hadn’t paid as close attention as she may have otherwise… 

But yes—the spark was there. She had seen her son look that way only once before. 

Bog either loved Marianne, or was barrelling straight in that direction. He went with the princess to the Valley—a place he had kept secret from fairies and anyone that did not live in the Darklands. He trusted Marianne with the knowledge of the place. Bog even took the fairy to the northern villages. And the princess would not be unresponsive to Bog's charms. Her son was much appealing than he thought he was, she knew, like his father before him...

The how it all happened mattered not to Griselda. She had seen the budding concern in Bog's face when he shushed her the night before, upon re-entering Marsh's room. The fairy princess was curled into a ball, sleeping, and Bog immediately looked to her with care Griselda failed to notice just then, too preoccupied as she was with Marsh's recovery.

But now her baby was feeling better… and even had a love coming to him, one that would break the potion's spell, freeing Bog to fall in love with the princess completely, without holding back for his brother's sake.

This Summer Sweep brought her sons more than she could have hoped for!

Taking a moment to think, Griselda pondered her options. Her primary worry remained her youngest son, obviously. But that did not mean there was nothing else she could do.

Griselda came down from the giddy dreams of love, romance and Autumn weddings and refocused on the elf.

“What’s your name, again?” she asked her, plans already weaving in her mind.

“I’m Sunny, and this is Plum.” Sunny gestured to the other creature. 

“My name is Griselda. Bog is my son, and he’s been alone for far too long.” Griselda stepped closer to Sunny, grasping one of her hands in hers. “It’s time to play a little game, don’t you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lofe is back! 
> 
> Had some issues with my computer, but it’s back now :D


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re going into the endgame, people. Brace yourselves!

“He _what_?”

“The king hadn’t been seen since the morning!”

“I _thought_ that’s what you said, but it was so ridiculous that the _guards_ would ever lose sight over their _king_ that I believed I misheard.” Marianne sneered, looking utterly ferocious with it. It was clear to Bog her patience with the fairy called Gary was waning fast. 

_All the better, if it means I can rip him to shreds._

“But… but… he… the cap—“

“Hey Bog,” the princess turned to him, sarcasm dripping from every word, disdain clear on her face, “who do you think this ‘new captain’ is?”

Bog decided to play along with her game. Amusement battled rage and won. “Oh, princess. I could _only_ guess, but since ye asked, I’ll do my best.” He rattled the fairy for effect before continuing. “Someone ‘new’, persuasive, charming, took over within hours. The king, if not outright missing, is not to be found. I think that leaves us not many options, am I right, Marianne?”

“Oh, yes. I agree, Bog.” Despite the severity of the situation and the implication, Bog couldn’t help but enjoy himself. Acting out the farse with the princess was entertaining, especially when she looked at him in that way, making his stomach clench…

_No, no. Stay clear of that way. Don’t… it’s just the madness of the potion talking… Marianne said it herself, my eyes were turning pink…_

“Let’s say our guesses together, huh?” She quirked an eyebrow. 

“Let’s.”

“Okay, on the count of three.” Marianne lifted her hand, three long, graceful fingers pointed skywards.

“One…” she dropped one.

“Two…” Bog counted.

“Three. “ Marianne’s made her fist. 

“It’s Roland!” they shouted together, the princess bringing her fist to the guard’s face, pushing him clean out of Bog’s grasp. He then hit the side of a tree and collapsed, losing consciousness once more. 

Bog didn’t envy him, having felt the force behind Marianne’s punch on his own jaw. It ached still, even hours later. Occupied with a quick test of his jaw, Bog failed to notice the princess beside him before she took to the air. In an instant, his earlier amusement faded as if nothing was funny and never would be again.

“Wha… where are ye going?” _Stupid question. Ye know_ where _she’s going._

She hovered, seeming conflicted, her wings moving restlessly at her back. Her head kept turning west, towards the lowering sun. “I have to go home.” Marianne dropped a hand to the pommel of her sword and looked in the direction of the Fairyfields again.

“Ye realise it’s a trap, right?” Bog felt dread coiling in his stomach. Even as little as he presumed to know about the princess, he knew she would still go. Her father was in danger, and she would go, and she may get captured or hurt, or, Stars above, even killed. She would go and never come back. 

At Bog’s words, Marianne sighed. She came down to stand in front of him, and for those precious few minutes, her attention was undividedly on Bog. “I know. And I am going, anyway.”

Her golden-brown eyes stared into his intently, urging him to understand, but at the same time, she was decided. Nothing Bog could say would change her mind. He knew that. But it didn’t stop him from trying. 

“Don’t go,” he urged. “We’ll figure out how to help yer father toge—together.” Bog’s hands longed to reach for the fairy princess. He wanted to say he’ll come with her, that he will join her and fight with her and keep her from harm, just like he promised himself in the early hours of that morning. But he said none of it. He couldn’t leave the Forest in a time of need. He couldn’t tell her lies.

The princess shook her head sadly, face softening, but her expression torn. 

The soldiers were still on the ground. Imp stood close to Bog and the potion, staring wide-eyed with his tail twitching with agitation. Orders needed to be given to narrow the perimeter circle around the castle and send more guards to the villages to keep them safe. Fairies in the Forest meant danger to all its denizens. There were children in the fortress, infants and young ones that needed protection. How could Bog claim to be their king and leave them in an emergency? 

He had no choice. She wouldn’t—couldn’t stay. He couldn’t—wouldn’t leave. 

Marianne blinked, her eyes shutting for a second too long before opening again and flaring her wings behind her. “I guess this is goodbye, Bog King.” 

“I… suppose it is.” 

With a few powerful beats of her magenta wings, Marianne fluttered to the air again. “I hope you find that goblin girl for your brother,” she said, her voice low but clear, echoing between the trees. 

Bog didn’t answer. Worry and anxiety made an awful mix in his chest as he watched Marianne wait for a few seconds more for the reply he couldn’t give. She turned her face down, hiding it from his view, and flew westwards and away. 

Away from the Forest. Away from the fragile connection forged over a long day and a longer night. Away from Bog.

————————————————

The soldiers were tied securely. Bog disarmed them and removed their armour to wrap thick vines around the three’s midsections, wrists, ankles, legs and lastly, another circle around the hips and elbows, keeping the wings tightly folded. When it was done, they were awake and took turns in either begging for mercy, calling out for the princess or help, shouting and making Bog’s head hurt with their noise. He ignored the pleading all with a curl of his lips, baring his crooked fangs at the audacity of the fairies asking Marianne for help after threatening her. They were fortunate he didn’t rip their wings off.

By the time he had returned to the nearby village and told them to bring the fairies to back to the Green Castle, the sun had dipped even lower in the sky. Bog could see the spreading orange and pink and felt the time pass like gathering clouds. 

The image of Marianne as she left stayed with him. Even as Bog flew back to the castle, a sense of urgency growing steadily more unbearable as the day began to shift into the evening and he went over the list of things that needed to be done. He tried not to think of the princess and the fields and whether she was safe, whether she was careful. It did his growing headache no good to run in useless circles as questions with no possible answers haunted him.

Imp sat at his shoulder as he flew, telling Bog bits of information, such as where the little creature had come from, why was he in the Forest, why he took the potion. As it happened, Imp was from the mountains to the north, where earlier that he lost his way in a snowstorm, accidentally reaching the foot of the mountain. The small, furry creature tried to find his way home, unsuccessfully, and eventually gave up on the quest, hunger and exhaustion forcing him to cross the Forest’s boundary to search for food. He had been alone for the months following and witnessed the entire altercation between Marianne, Marsh and Roland. His mind only half on Imp’s story, Bog concentrated on returning home as fast as he could.

The castle loomed ahead, and its sight was neither soothing nor comforting as it once was. The memory of a certain fairy princess remained prevalent and stuck with Bog as he neared, flying first towards Brutus’—the head of security—post in the upper floors of the castle. From the lookout station, it was possible to see the entire scope of the surrounding Forest, and Bog knew the tall, brawny goblin would perceive any potential threat quickly. With only a few whirrs of his wings, the king reached the topmost floor.

“Brutus,” Bog greeted the goblin when he arrived with a nod, landing carefully on the edge of the floor. The post was sheltered under a carved wood roof, set deep within the walls of the castle. One side was open, facing southwest in the direction of the earthen bridge and the castle’s main entrance. The northeast side had a lengthy opening, exposing the other side of the Forest for Brutus’ watch. It was beyond the goblin’s position to do simple sentry chores, but Bog knew him to be hands-on with his duties. If the Forest was to be under threat, Brutus would keep the inhabitants of the castle and surrounding houses safe by looking out for them. 

“Hey, Bog.” Brutus was an old childhood friend, and one of the few that didn’t refer to him as their king. Bog was Bog, whether he was a prince, a king or a commoner. 

“News?” Bog sat on the edge, staff across his lap and brought a leg up, resting his foot on the edge. Brutus eyed Imp but said nothing about him, merely replying to the question.

“There are currently five females and five males, all love-dusted and absolutely horrible with it.” Brutus’ green and grey mottled skin shuddered top to bottom as he spoke, emphasising his disgust. “They’re… _singing_.” 

“Singing?” Bog’s voice was dubious.

“Yeah.” Brutus swivelled his head, his large, blunt teeth showing in a grimace. “Singing _love_ songs.”

“Ugh.”

“Yup.” Brutus faced southwest again, coming to stand beside Bog’s sitting form. “Now you know why I’m here.”

“I don’t blame ye, old friend.”

“What is the news with your princess?” he asked absent-mindedly. The innocent question jolted Bog never-the-less, making him drop his upraised leg suddenly to bang on the edge as he straightened.

“She’s… She’s not _my_ … My anything!” Bog felt heat rise up his exposed neck to burn the tips of his pointed ears. Imp hissed a giggle and dropped to the wooden floor to explore the lookout post and the internal stairs leading down to the main castle. 

Brutus had no eyebrows of which to speak of but made a deliberate attempt at raising them in response to Bog’s actions. “Oh…?”

“We… I… found clues to Marsh’s… er… _friend_ … but no traces to where she currently is living.” Bog went on, trying to cover up his blunder. “I passed around orders for information. If anyone knows anything, they will be coming this way. Be ready.”

Brutus hummed an affirmative, following Imp with his gaze as the little rodent examined the chair and food chest. Probably to make sure Imp doesn’t steal his specially made blackcurrant tarts.

“We found fairies in the forest,” Bog told the goblin, rising to his feet with a rattle of wings. He’d rested enough, and it was time for action.

“What?” Brutus turned back to Bog at once.

“After questioning the princess and I determined there had been a coup in the fields.” Bog shifted his staff from one hand to another, looking into the glowing amber within its head, avoiding Brutus’ shocked face. He didn’t want his friend to possibly see anything more than he was willing to show. “The princess went back to ascertain her father’s wellbeing.” 

“She went… _alone_?” Brutus’ typically hoarse voice went comically high pitched in his stunned confusion.

“Ye need to inform everyone. Shrink the perimeter and send guards to the villages.” Bog reached for Imp, and he jumped smoothly to Bog’s arms, skittering up to cling to the edge of his shoulder spur. “Set a contingency for the evacuation of the castle through the tunnels. We don’t know what’s coming and I want everyone ready and aware.”

“But, Bog—“

“Pass a message through the mushrooms about the potential invasion and have them tell all the outlying villages and settlements, especially the ones near the border.”

“List—“

“I want this done before moonrise. Understood?”

“But—“

“I said, _understood_?”

Brutus sighed. His fin-like ears drooped, and he brought his three-fingered hands together. “Understood.”

“Good. Have someone replace ye. I need ye at the throne room in a few minutes. I’m going to check on my brother now, and see ye there afterwards.” 

Without another word, Bog leapt off, free-falling for no more than a second before his wings caught him—making Imp chitter with a tiny, frightened squeak—zipping down one of the hidden sky-doors. Choosing the one leading to the dining hall, he tried not to think of the last time he used it and growled under his breath as he continued, startling a scullery maid as she began setting the table for dinner.

His stomach gurgled, and Bog wondered if Marianne had anything to eat since their midday meal. Shaking his head to remove intrusive thoughts of the fairy, he snagged a hot potpie of some kind and offered Imp a blueberry as he passed. Imp took the berry and ate it one-handed, his small, sharp teeth making tiny marks on the skin of the fruit.

By the time he reached the healer’s floor, Bog had finished his pie and rubbed his hands together to be rid of the crumbs. Talking and laughter from Marsh’s room spurred him on, his wings buzzing in hopeful anticipation.

“Bog! You’re back!” Griselda bounced off her armchair, where she had been reading a book, to rush to her eldest son when he walked through the open door. But the first thing he noticed was…

“Marsh, are ye all right?” Bog asked his brother, who sat on the edge of the bed, eating out of a carved bowl set on a small, round table. He shared the meal, surprisingly, with Sunny, and the two had been smiling when Bog entered, turning identical grins in his direction in greeting. In the corner was Sugar Plum, hovering and looking like a glowing ice statue. She ignored Bog as he entered, and in return he ignored her too, settling into the uneasy truce between them.

“Yeah! I feel lots better,” he said, looking over Bog’s shoulder to the empty doorway, pushing his food away on the table in front of him. “Where’s Princess Marianne?”

At the glaring dismay on Bog’s face, Sunny skipped out of her seat, forcing Marsh’s attention away from his brother. “Hey, who’s this little cutie?” she interjected, pointing at Imp.

Relieved at the distraction and grateful for the elf’s shrewdness in noticing his discomfort, Bog reached over his shoulder to grab Imp at the scruff of his neck, lifting him for the room to see. “He’s the little troublemaker that dusted the people in the dungeon. He told me his name is Imp.”

“Is he one of the Pooka of the Mountains?” Griselda stepped closer, her forehead creasing as she took in Imp’s wave and hello squeak. “He has the white fur and big ears, but I’ve never seen one so close before.”

“Must be,” Bog shrugged, lowering Imp till the creature sat on Marsh’s cot. Intrigued, Marsh’s wings twitched behind him, and he gingerly stretched his sound arm over for Imp to smell. “He said he got lost in that big storm over the winter and couldn’t make him way home, poor wee thing. Not that it excuses misusing an evil love-potion,” Bog pointedly admonished Imp, who trilled and wrung his tiny, clawed hands in apology.

“That’s right. Yer not going to be messing with none of that again, will ye?” Bog lifted a leafy brow, staring the little creature down.

Imp straightened up, shaking his head and mimed a cross over his heart, all the while making high pitched noises of assent.

Content with the display, Bog nodded and rubbed a hand over his furry head, moving closer to his brother’s side, bending down to peer at the taped and broken arm, examining the blood seepage from the cut on his side. “Looks good, _mo bráthair._ Yer healing well.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait till I can dance with Marianne again!” Marsh turned his head to grin at Bog, his spindly, branch-like horns nearly poking him in the eye at the sudden movement, dimples carved deep into his cheeks.

_Bugger it all, what am I going to say?_

“Aye, I’m sure that will be a lovely sight…” Bog pursed his lips, guilt and chagrin twisting his insides into knots.

“Bog, did you find what you were looking for? You know, in the villages?” Griselda asked, turning his attention to her. “We could really do with that thing, right about now.”

Bog rubbed a hand over his face. Exhaustion settling over him once again. He had found clues, but nothing concrete about Marsh’s goblin friend, and his only hope was that someone may come forward with news about her. Otherwise, his brother may go the rest of his life being in love with Marianne…

In his chest, Bog’s heart gave a painful squeeze, and with effort, he pushed the pain aside to answer his mother’s question.

“No, we—I— didn’t, but there may be some people coming forth with news later.”

With Imp on his lap, his quick little paws exploring all over Marsh’s scaled armour and the edges of the spider silk bandages, Marsh’s asked, “Where’s Marianne?”

“Uh, she’ll… she had to go, _mo bráthair,_ ” Bog answered, hoping Marsh would drop the subject, knowing he won’t. 

“Has she gone home?” Marsh’s face fell. His usually constant smile fading to be replaced with longing expression that had the knife in Bog’s heart twist deeper.

“Aye. But I’m sure she’ll be visiting the Forest soon enough,” Bog lied, forcing his wings to stay still and not expose the deception. _If she’s still alive by the end of the night…_

“Can we go see her, then?” Marsh asked, one eye shut as Imp reached for his face, black beady eyes scrutinising. “Marianne wouldn’t mind if we go to the Fields, I’m sure of it! Please, Bog. Can we go?” he continued, his voice muffled from the creature’s squishing of his cheeks.

_I wish I could ask the same…_ “Not until you’re better, right, Mam?” Bog glanced around the room, searching for back-up.

“What?” Griselda shook her head, shifting her intense gaze from Bog to Marsh. “Yes, baby. I’m afraid you have to be fully healed to be able to fly to the Fields.” Marsh frowned, opening his mouth to object, then subduing again when Bog gave him an ‘ _I told you so_ ’ look.

But then, his mother looked back, tilting her head to the door. “Bog, I need a word with you, Son.”

“Eh? No, I… I have to go meet Brutus in the throne room, now.” Bog took a smart step away from Griselda, his staff coming up in front as if it could keep her questions at bay. “Later, Mam.”

Bog knew exactly what his mother had in mind. He knew just what she was going to ask and was not prepared to answer those questions. It was cowardly, but he had to get away before Griselda inquired about Marianne. It was gut-wrenching enough telling the little he had to Brutus, admitting he had left the princess to handle a coup d'état by herself, abandoning her to her fate. It hurt enough to feel as though his heart was tearing itself apart, knowing he would probably never see her again. 

“I’ll see ye all soon, all right?” he managed to say without choking, the staff dragging a little on the floor before he picked it up again. 

Sunny gave him a sad little wave as he stepped out the door. Marsh tried to smile, but a frown kept crawling on his face instead. Sugar Plum didn’t even look in Bog’s direction—focused on Imp as she was. Imp squeaked and bounced a little in place as he waved goodbye.

And Griselda. His mother watched him suspiciously, her eyes narrowing into slits with an expression he felt a growing qualm to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you liked, or *not* liked it!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens—then a DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN

Roland waited by the Dark Forest’s arched entry. It was long abandoned and fallen into disrepair years before, and neither the Forest Folk nor the Field Fae were inclined to build it again. 

He had seen illustrations of the once majestic gate—tall, weaving vines curled around the natural roots that made the arch. Flowering with a rainbow of colours in spring, and evergreen during the winter months, it was a sight for sore eyes, the legends told--a comfort and a sign of peace between the two kingdoms, an ancient, natural doorway between the realms.

Now, it was a petrified, barren vine, naked of any colour and shrivelled, curving up in a nearly perfect circle between two trees, a gaping dark hole leading from the brightness of open space, into the desolate blackness of the forest.

To say the least, Roland hated the very sight of it.

However, the means justify the end, and he made an effort to remain dignified and respectable in his cloak, riding an offspring of his previous mount Chipper, named Skippy. A less than noble name, but the squirrel was strong and able and obedient. Roland fed it nuts to earn the animal’s loyalty, but as he was not tested, it was not certain how well the beast will fare in battle.

And battle Roland expected. There was only the barest detail to the story the guards that escorted Marianne told. None were quite so sure what had occurred between the Bog Prince and the Fairy Princess before the guards arrived at the elf village. The royals were away, and returned from the wild fields after their chase together, with the young goblin prince in love and besotted. Roland kept an impassive, straight face when hearing the tale the others told him when giving the run-down of the night’s events. 

It took only a little time to undermine the previous Captain. When he hid from the search, he overheard the soldiers complaining of their leader’s complacency by allowing the Princess to leave unescorted with the goblins into the foul forest.

Roland whole-heartedly agreed and decided to use the weak link in the chain of command to weaken the sway the captain had. It was an easy matter from then on—he sent one of the three fairies he Charmed to King Dagda with the suggestion he ought to unseat Greenwood for his incompetence and choose another to lead the soldiers in their quest to rescue Princess Marianne.

With Greenwood out of the palace, the path to the king was cleared. Finally, he saw his chance to come forth. His Glamour was sound, but would only last so long under scrutiny from people that knew him from before. To prevent the Fairy King from recognising him, he used a trick—blinding Dagda by making use of the shining, gold-gilded doorways into the Fairy rock-carved palace to his advantage combined with the early morning light behind him—Roland stepped forward with his magicked cape in place. The smooth honey voice took effect over the king could question him and his authority.

Of course, Charming involved much more than mere speech and the interest of the beholder—it was a carefully cultivated skill, something he learned from the djinn herself. The enticement he felt when first setting his eyes on the ivory box the demon was once contained in could be mimicked, recreated, by those a djinn was bound to. The magic could be shared.

She hadn’t wanted to tell him. Roland saw the disdain clear as day on the shining, semi-transparent face, and her reluctance piqued his interest all the more. Upon his order to speak, Sugar Plum told him of all the undercurrent passive perks for a djinn’s master. The small creature was not allowed to harm him, though her facial expressions at times revealed she would have liked to. Roland knew if she was ever released from being under his control, she would kill him.

And that would not do. He must never allow her to be free of him.

“Captain Finn?”

The quiet voice near the place he sat jarred Roland out of his thinking. A young soldier, a fairy called Herbert, hesitated at the edge of the forest. It was then Roland came to realise he had sat on a pebble, his sword in hand, staring into the abysmal gateway in silence for what must have been an uncomfortably long time.

Gathering his composure, Roland replied with a tight smile. “Yes?”

“The others and I… We—but not me in particular, of course—been wondering whether… whether this is the right move,” the young, dark-haired fairy stammered. “You know, politically, and, um, for the Princess’ safety.”

“Oh?” Roland raised an eyebrow, letting the other man keep talking till he ran out of words--a simple technique to gain the conversational advantage.

“Because… You see, we know you’re new and all, but we’ve known Princess Marianne for a long time, and, and, well, she is very competent, sir. I wouldn’t put it past her to escape almost any prison,” he continued, his nervous voice rising and falling with his conviction, his wings twitching. “And… well… we wondered whether we shouldn’t wait a bit longer, that’s all.”

“Have any of you ever seen a person under the influence of a love-potion before?” Roland rose from his perch, his back straightening like a ramrod. He looked down his nose at Herbert. This time, his Charm would take the effect of respect and awe—rather than trust and admiration.

“Uh… no, sir. We haven’t.”

“In that case, I suggest you make no quick judgement to its strength. I applaud your gumption to come and challenge a superior in a matter you deem important, but. You presume much to think you know more than the king himself.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean any disrespect, Captain—“Herbet’s blue eyes widened with alarm, his brown mothwings half-flaring behind him.

“Don’t worry,” Roland relaxed his posture, winking. “I take no offence. I’m glad you worry for your Princess so much.”

“Yes! We do, we all care a lot for her!” Herbert nodded enthusiastically.

“In that case, we follow the king’s order. At any cost necessary—right, Herbert?” Roland leaned forward a little as if confiding with the other fairy.

“Yes. Yes! For Marianne. At any cost, we’ll save her!” Herbert fully spread his wings and took to the air, saluting and bowing before flying back to the main group.

With Herbert gone, Roland turned his face away, unable to keep the sneer down any longer. Those fools thought they knew Marianne better than he did?

_Idiots. No one knows her better than I do. And soon enough, she’ll be mine, again._

~~~~~~~

The long stems of the wild grass of the Fairyfields hid Marianne as she flew toward the fairy castle and her home. 

Sentries were posted along the way, but as Marianne trained and sparred with almost every guard, she knew to recognise them, stealthily making her way back. It was harder than she’d thought it would be to leave the forest...  and its inhabitants. The Princess had grown fond of the forest folk. They were rough around the edges but kindly and genuine in ways she would have never predicted. Indeed, she had been accepted amongst them far more readily than any of them would fare among the fairies. Marianne took note of that injustice, deciding to amend it as soon as she was able. 

If she survived.

There had been no doubt in her mind—this was a trap to lure her out and capture her. To what end, Marianne wasn’t sure. Bog had the love-potion now, and she trusted him to keep it safely contained. He seemed to believe the little white creature, and his faith in it made Marianne feel well enough to allow the potion to remain with the king. In any case, she had no way to keep the potion safe and out of Roland’s reach. For now, her trust laid in Bog.

The Almighty Bog King of the Dark Forest. Who would have thought, the king that less than a day ago was an opponent, a challenger, would become… a friend? The title didn’t quite fit over the image of the imposing not-a-goblin, but it was the closest name to the fast-growing connection Marianne felt towards him. 

Midflight, she paused for a few painful heartbeats, turning around to see the tops of the dark trees that made his home, the place that welcomed her with no judgement and expectations. The forest, frightening and intimidating as it might appear at first glance, was a beautifully mysterious place. A place Marianne would have wanted to explore more. 

When saying her goodbyes to Bog, she hoped he would ask her to return. He had said, when they spoke of the Fields and Forest alliance, that she would need to come to the Green Castle to negotiate and come to agreeable terms, but that was political. Bog’s passing comment about Marianne could have been coincidental or accidental. It was entirely possible he didn’t mean it the way Marianne wanted to believe he meant it. 

But… he hadn’t invited her to come back. Bog stared with his mouth twisted and blue eyes wide, his silence reverberating among the closely growing trees. A silence that spoke volumes. 

Perhaps he didn’t wish for her to return. Perhaps he didn’t think friendship was even possible. If what he said was true, then he had some amount of respect toward the Princess, but his feelings likely ended there.

The fairy frowned, a heavy stone replaced where a heart once beat. She turned her back once more to the forest, shaking off disturbing thoughts and discouraging images, settling into a familiar state of mind of pure focus.

There was a mission to accomplish—her father and king needed her. And Marianne was not one to shirk her duties.

~~~~~~~~

At twilight, large, flower floodlights lit the area around the Fairy Castle. There was patrol on the ground and in the air, but their number was fewer than the Princess thought it would be. There were only four fairies on the ground, one at each cardinal direction, and in the air there were only two, fluttering and gliding around in constant watch. There was one more, unusually placed, near the tallest window in the castle, and trusting her instinct, Marianne knew her father was there.

Inside the castle, there were too many unknown variables. There was no telling from external scouting how many guards were posted there. Her chances remained with infiltrating the room was from the window. It pained Marianne to damage her subjects, but as she did recon for almost a full hour, hidden among the swaying blades of grass, she could see no other way.

Roland may have turned them all. By what Gary said, there was not one soldier she could trust. They were all compromised, and unfortunate as it was, there was no other choice than to secure Dagda from any intervening influence. Marianne soberly recognised it was possible Dagda himself would turn on her, maybe even call out for the guards to arrest her. But, he was her father, and she had to try.

The guard at the eastern post was called Terrence. Marianne recognised him by his pale yellow wings and bronze armour. He was the weak link among the others. Terrence was young, merely eighteen summers old, jumpy and eager to prove himself. He once dared to challenge Marianne herself, and while he had potential, the boy was overly excited, making mistakes and skipping necessary steps in the dance of sword fighting. It didn’t take long to bring him down.

There would be no need to knock him out. Terrence could be easily distracted and sent off to another direction so Marianne could speed past him. 

With a stone thrown in the distance and a stick tossed in another, Marianne flattened herself to a large outcrop, baiting the young fairy to make his choice.

Terrence chose the stick and called for the guard making the air patrol to take his place as he went to examine it.

Now, had Terrence been smarter—or rather, more experienced—he would have requested the flying patrol to go over the field from their position in the air and search for anything suspicious. But the boy wanted to show his ability, and knowing he would, Marianne took full advantage of the error in judgement. 

It took no more than five seconds for the Princess to reach an altitude in which she would be invisible against the dark night’s sky. The fairies on the ground looked like tiny, colourful beetles under the brightness of the artificial light. Marianne picked the right moment carefully, folding her wings and diving as silently as a fallen stone, avoiding notice from the second flying sentry. 

The topmost window was a small one—only barely large enough to allow a grown fairy to enter it. The sentry posted outside sat balanced on small protrusion of solid rock, forming a natural balcony. She was one of Dagda’s personal guards, chosen by Marianne herself. A sensible fairy, one that Marianne could rely on to protect the king. Her name was Jade, and in her mid-thirties, her battle skill was second only to Marianne’s.

The Princess hoped she wouldn’t have to fight Jade for entry.

Jade looked up a second too late. Silently, Marianne kicked the royal guard in her jaw, only hard enough to knock the shining silver metal helmet askew, blinding her temporarily. She took advantage of the surprise attack, dragging Jade into the castle through the narrow window with an arm around the middle, away and out of the sight of the others. 

The silver-clad fairy thrashed, grunting as she did, throwing a sharp elbow into Marianne’s stomach. Dressed in only her casual lightweight petal armour, having started the night before going to a  party  of all ridiculous things, she was woefully unprepared for hand-to-hand combat with a fairy in full body armour. Lucky for Marianne, and unlucky for Jade, the former trained with the latter, meaning Marianne knew all of Jade’s moves. 

Jade’s elbow winded her, but Marianne managed to get the other in a headlock. Before the guard could complete the punch to her face, the Princess placed her mouth to Jade’s ear, whispering urgently with what breath she had left.

“Sunlit nights.”

The effect was instantaneous. Jade went limp, only Marianne’s grip on her kept upright. The deep blue wings on her back shuddered with shock, and she tried to cough out the reply to the code-phrase, only her windpipe was still restrained in the crook of Marianne’s elbow.

“Whoops,” Marianne muttered, releasing Jade . 

“Moonlit days,” she wheezed out the reply to the code phrase, coughing and ripping the skewed helmet off her head, trying to take great, gulping breaths.

Giving the guard a few moments to recover, Marianne crossed the small room, filled with floor to ceiling bookcases full of scrolls and other old and useless family knickknacks, to peek out of the window, scouting for anything out of order in case anyone that noticed the altercation.

“Marianne?!” Jade squeaked, and she turned back around, catching the utter shock in on her face. “What are… How did you get here?” 

“I flew, of course.” Rolling her eyes, Marianne rubbed at the sore spot in her abdomen where Jade elbowed her. 

“No, but… How did you get away? You don’t look infected…” Jade straightened and stepped closer to Marianne, peering at her eyes closely. 

“How would one look like love-dusted, anyway? We never did any trials, Jade.” 

“I dunno… But I would assume you would want to be all over the goblin you fell in love with, right?” Jade narrowed her eyes in contemplation.

“Seriously. We can stand here, having a whispered debate about love-potions for as long as you like,  when my father and kingdom are safe, ” Marianne said, spitting the final words between her teeth. 

The fairy soldier blanched at her princess’ scowl but shook her head to clear it. “But, King Dagda  is  safe.” 

“No, he’s not. Who told you to be here?” 

“The king expelled Greenwood and his closest this morning, and there was a new guy I’ve never seen before,” Jade answered, struggling to keep her voice quiet. “He stationed us where we are. Said to look out for any goblins that would come for Dagda’s life.”

“How many are positioned around here?” Marianne fluttered her way to the door, reluctant to walk on the wooden floor in case there was anyone below it. The urgent need to stay silent kept her wary. 

“Jason has the stairs secure, and Bailey is in the sky with Silas.” Following her commander’s lead, Jade kept her voice hushed but retained the confusion on her face. “Gerald, Willie and Penny have the bottom floors.”

“Right. What’s the shift rota?”

“Outside we’re—“

“I know the outside, I need to know the inside, now.”

“Oh, of course. Um, every two hours we swap places, and another guard from the main army would come, and we exchange intel and orders.”

Something cold and slimy crawled down her spine at the mention of an army. “The main army?”

“Yeah where Captain Finn had taken most of us to the border to demand your return.” Jade’s face suddenly went slack as she realised the apparent problem. “But… you’re already here… and… and… The King ordered…”

“What? What had he ordered, Jade?” Panic broke through the calm of the mission to replace the stone with a painful thump of her heart. Marianne leapt towards the other fairy, grasping her by her shoulder and shaking her.

“He said… to bring you home at any c-cost,” Jade answered, a look of horror growing on her dark face.

“At any cost?” Marianne repeated, her imagination running wild with the possibilities—each more horrific than the last.

Before Jade could answer, the door opened and her twin brother, Jason, walked in. “Jay? Is that you?”

Marianne had no way to escape—exiting through the window was too big of a risk. Jason would come in and see her and call the alarm. Unless she wielded deadly weapons against them, all the guards would overwhelm her and take her down. 

She was trapped.

_Damn it all to hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *something witty and funny that is always serious at the same time*
> 
> Let me know how you like or don’t the chapter! Comments is fuel :D


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fights and flights and other disturbing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter—there was a lot to fit in. Hope you like it!

Bog sat on his throne, thinking of the princess. 

He completed his tasks for any possible attack, sending almost everyone away with a list of jobs and tasks to do in and around the castle. Even Stuff and Thang were gone, sent to wait by the mushrooms for updates. There wasn't much more he could do himself. As king, his duty remained in the throne room, for a few moments of respite. Soon enough, the time for war may come, and he needed to be at the best state he could, to protect his people. Who knew what kind of trickery the fairies may bring to the battlefield.

The moon had fully risen in the time it took the king to organise the goblins, and he rubbed his forehead, the headache he had earlier in the day returning in full force. The heavy sinking feeling in his gut weighing him down. 

Where was she? Was she all right? Was she fighting? 

_Is she still alive?_

Marsh had been recovering well when he last checked, sitting up again in the bed and playing cards. The elf had taken to keep the prince company, and Bog allowed it, despite Sunny's annoying blue shadow. With the elf to keep her tame, Sugar Plum seemed innocuous enough. 

A flicker of light above caught his attention, making him look up. A shape moved across the full moon and his breath caught in his throat as he recognised that glorious shade of magenta.

_Marianne._

She burst through the skylight, showering Bog and the floor with glass. Shrieking an ear-splitting war cry, she swung her sword down in a powerful sweep, aiming for his throat. He had only the barest second to snatch his staff where he leaned it on the side of the throne to block the attack. 

"Princess!" Bog called, but the angry lines on her face remained.

She growled and pulled back to spin and attempt a side-thrust to his midsection. Once again, Bog stopped the sword's advance. 

Why was Marianne attacking him? They hadn't parted on bad terms, despite his silence and lack of assistance. Could something so wrong have happened that the princess blamed Bog for it? Could it be that the fairy king had been killed, and now Marianne thought for his death had been Bog's fault?

Thoughts and theories rushed across Bog's kind like a flock of birds. Similarly, he found it almost impossible to settle on any, since as soon as he picked one out of the crowd, another swooped in to distract him. Marianne's vicious attack didn't help with his thinking process, either. 

She really did go easy on him last time. 

Bog suspected it, seeing Marianne rise to the air with her two blades in hand when they were in The Valley. Not only were they held expertly, in perfect form, but the muscles over her arms also did not shake or tremble. 

Nor did they now, though she only had the sword, without the dagger, too.

One blade was plenty, Bog thought, to keep him busy. Swinging, spinning, thrusting, Marianne's onslaught was relentless. But, before long, Bog came to enjoy the fight. 

There truly had never been another, like her. 

"Marianne," he tried again, hardly aware of the growing smile on his lips. It was a pure thrill to allow himself to go all out. He suspected it was the same for her—certainly none could match her skill in her kingdom. 

Her eyes widened for a split second at the sound of her name, and Bog glimpsed a flash of pink reflected within the pupil. The shock of the discovery almost led to the loss of his left arm when he neglected to notice the sword fall. Reflexively he flew backwards, evading by a hairsbreadth, while his mind reeled.

The potion. But… _how_? It wasn't possible. Bog hid the potion in his own chambers, deep within a secret compartment. Not a single soul other than him knew where it was. 

"No, no, no, no!" Bog's heart, already beating hard from the exercise, almost stopped. Flying to the ground, his head overfilled with the nauseating thought. _It can't be. She… the princess… Marianne…_

Bog let his staff's ornate head dip to the floor with a clang when she followed close behind, reaching for the fairy he battled with his free hand. There had to be something he could do. The potion's effects can only be broken with real love, right?

_I… I love ye._

She landed with a dizzying flare of her wings, the sword already in mid-swing, only this time Bog caught it with his bare hand. He felt no pain as the wicked sharp edge of it sliced into his palm. So focused on the princess, he saw nothing but her. 

She struggled to release her weapon, but Bog didn't let it go. He pulled on the sword, forcing her closer, his wings rising high behind him in a combination of fear and excitement. He'd never done what he was about to do, but at least he knew it was necessary. 

_I love ye. I'll help ye._

Again, Marianne's eyes went wide when she took in the imposing king's face, and she stopped struggling. He smiled, trying to reassure her, despite knowing his hideous appearance would likely give her no comfort. 

Another step and Bog slid his freely bleeding hand along the sword, slicing it even more. There was still no pain, and he ignored the blood dripping to the floor, the sound of it echoing like Marianne's had, when they were in Marsh's sickroom. 

_Drip drop_ , it went. 

Finally, as though the last step it took to get to the princess was an endless desert, Bog stood before her. He allowed his staff to fall with a loud clatter, cradling her soft face in his newly freed hand. 

_I love ye. I'll help ye. I'm here._

He bent his knees and brought his face to hers as she stood frozen and unmoving, only the golden irises betraying her awareness. The black pupils in the centre of her beautiful eyes expanded, swallowing their colour. Her dark lips fell softly open, inviting, welcoming. Everything inside him called for this moment to happen. She needed him to help her, and Bog would not turn away this time.

"I'll bring ye back," he whispered and pressed his mouth gently to hers. 

.

.

.

"Report from the mushrooms, sire!" 

Stuff, one of his aide's—if one could call them that—announced loudly, her grating voice rousing Bog from his dream.

Where it would have led to, where it came from, was beyond his knowledge. But the fact he dreamed of the princess, of kissing her, was more than enough to spike his heart-rate twofold, making him jump out of his slumped posture on the throne and into the air.

Where he hovered for a few moments, face hot and burning as if he was nothing more than a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, blinking in confusion until Stuff's words sank in.

"Well?" he said irritably, coming down to a stand at the foot of the dais, setting his staff down with an echoing din. He knew it was unfair to take his embarrassed and frustrated mood out on the small, amphibian goblin, but there was only so much a person can contain in a day. "What is it?"

She opened her mouth, taking a deep breath, before bending over to whisper loudly in Thang's ear. "Go on!" 

"Eh?" Thang jumped back, startled. "Why me?"

"You heard the message, you relay it!" Stuff rolled her eyes. "Obviously!"

"Well… I guess that makes sense…"

"If one of ye don't start talking right this second, someone's head is going to get bashed."

Both his aides started at the threat. It was not uncommon for the pair to be on the receiving end of Bog's growls and menacing words, but rarely did they hear such venom in his tone. 

"An amp here then it's over!" Thang exclaimed, puffing his thin chest out with pride as if his words made perfect sense. 

"Oh, Stars help me." 

Despite himself, Bog felt an unhinged urge to laugh. The sight of Thang so proud of himself, speaking such utter nonsense almost proved to be the last straw on his back. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and thought of other, more serious things. His dream came to mind. Marianne, under the love-potion's effects, attacking him—now there was a damper to any jovial thought. 

And just like that, the idea that the news may have anything to do with the princess assaulted him with an almost physical force. 

"I'll just go hear it for myself. You two go see to my mother," Bog instructed them, impatiently taking to the air with a rattle of wings. He heard the two goblins argue and chose to ignore them. 

Even in the meagre few seconds it took him to reach the outside of the castle, Bog forcibly pushed away from the epiphany he couldn't deny anymore—the fact he loved Marianne. It seemed impossible, unreasonable, bypassing any logic, that over a single night he simply transcended all his previously strict rules about love and romance.

How could it be true, that one girl, one woman, one fairy—one princess fairy of all people and things—had managed what for ten years his mother tried to overcome? Every obstacle in the way, the princess leapt over, grace and skill and smarts and beauty and the overwhelming level of intimacy she had shown overcoming his every defence.

And she's done it without even trying. Had she known, she would be repulsed, likely horrified, at his feelings. Bog but down a growl, his wings buzzing. She was stunning—inside and out, and she would never love him back.

The toadstool mushroom widened his eyes at the rapidly approaching king and the fearsome expression he wore. He probably looked even more terrifying than usual, for the thoughts swirling in his head. He nudged his fellow, an oyster mushroom, that in turn prompted the one next to her, until the entire row of the fungi messengers all stared at him, the dread on their flat, grey faces almost enough to distract Bog from the depressing knowledge of Marianne's surefire rejection.

What had them so afraid?

Bog flew over the first few mushrooms and came to the one right on the edge of the clearing around the Green Castle. Plucking it out of the ground, he put it to his ear and strained to hear the whispered message.

"An army waits on the border?" Bog repeated to be sure. The white mushroom nodded, her eyes fearful. Bog lowered her back down to where her perch had been and turned around again into a menacing crouch. He then put his finger and thumb in his mouth to let out a piercing whistle.

At once, the camouflaged goblins rose from their hidden posts. They had been masked as pebbles, under bushes, on the branches of the trees. There were dozens of them all around, some rising out of the ravine under the castle, climbing out of the secret alcoves pockmarking the canyon's walls.

All to his attention, under his command. His army. 

"We have an invasion into our lands!" Bog raised his voice so everyone around would hear him. "Who wants to kick some fairy arse?"

The roaring wave of their assent was all he needed to hear. A calm settled over him like a blanket—what he feared was set into motion.

No more waiting. The time was here.

_Now, to deal with this Roland twit._

~~~~~

Blood dripped out of the wound on her side with each beat of her heart. Marianne knew she had to lower her heart rate down to slow the bleeding, but the urgent flight and panic sapped her energy as well as her common sense, making it difficult to think clearly.

The tree line loomed ahead, finally, and she sighed in relief.

Not quite home—but a safe haven. Somewhere within the ancient forest was the one she was looking for—and she had to warn him.

Something terrible was about to happen. Something vile, and it was down to her to warn him and keep the rest of the forest folk safe.

She crossed the boundary line in a glide, staying close to the mossy ground. She knew her wings would fail her soon but hoped they would last long enough to get close to the castle. Pain from her previous injury made them numb, and with each flutter, she lost more height.

Her hand came up to her face to brush away the cold, sticky sweat there but stopped when she saw the blade of grass she cut earlier coated in red blood in her palm. It wasn't the first time she'd been cut or stabbed, but she was all alone now, with no medic, no help, and a horrible responsibility.

If she didn't keep on, they could all die.

Pushing behind the limits of her body, she forced her wings to beat harder, grinding her teeth with a growl as she did. This wouldn't stop her. Nothing will.

Until it did.

A sharp evasion of a tree to the side had her blind with agony, white-hot pain shooting from the place above her hip her own dagger had gone into.

Sightless, she crashed on a spongy part of the forest floor, only bruising her shoulder in the process. She tried to rise again, pulling her knees under herself, her left hand still trying to hold her life's blood within her body.

Dizziness made it nigh impossible to tell which side was up and she collapsed again, splayed and hopeless.

_I've failed. I've failed everyone. Please, please, please. I need help. Someone… anyone… please…_

But there was no one. There was a vain hope that someone on patrol may arrive, but she knew it would likely be too late for her by then. He would have tightened the perimeter of defence to around the villages and castle because that's what she would have done.

_Keep the people safe. I need to warn them… Have to stop it from happening…_

But the battering her body took since before dawn the morning before caught up with her. She laid motionless where she fell, eyes closed, the only sensation coursing through the haze of blood loss and exhaustion was the pain.

But, it too, began fading, cold replacing where hurt once was.

_I must be dying._

If so, she really did fail everything. But, as a tiny part of her mind made itself known, there was one small comfort—she could see her mother and sister again.

Both their golden heads gleamed softly in the summer sun, like the last day she had seen them.

" _Goodbye, sweetheart. Be good with your father—listen to him and take care of him, all right?_ " Was her mother's last request of her, just before she took to the sky. In her arms, the baby cooed at the kiss her big sister bestowed on her sweet button nose, reaching her pudgy hands towards Marianne, even as their mother flew away.

She could still vividly feel the caresses of her mother's soft, warm hands over her face and arms. In her mind, the queen still lived, her laughter ringing high, pealing and bright like the sun across the meadows and open fields of their kingdom.

They played chase more than once around the large tree by the castle, the same one where she'd first seen… _him_. 

The sweet vision of her lost family cracked like a mirror at the sudden shift back to the present when she came to realise there were, in fact, hands on her.

Too weak to move, her numb lips stayed almost still as she huffed a question. "Who…"

"Don't worry; I've got you," was the reply. The speaker was female, her voice distantly familiar.

"Ahh…" she moaned in pain as the other shuffled her to the side, lifting her. Her wings moved involuntarily, trying to help the stranger's efforts. Even trying to avoid the wound, the slow, gentle moments caused a cry of anguished pain to escape her gritted teeth.

"I'll bring you to the castle, okay? There are healers there."

"Need to… I… I have to…" she mumbled in reply, her eyelids were too heavy to fully open, and she saw only a sliver of the dark trees and the night's sky above.

"Shhh… I've got you. You'll be right as a raindrop, soon enough."

She managed to roll her head to the side when she felt the wind blow past her.

Apricot and pink wings, edged with black, stirred the air behind her rescuer's back. Recognition struck as a surreal fog settled down on Marianne's mind.

"Mother?" she mumbled, the familiar voice and wing colour of her dead mother's finally cutting through the years. "Mom, is that you?"

~~~~~

Bog usually avoided coming to the ancient border gate.

In his youth, his father told him stories of the peace that once was between the kingdoms and the reasons leading to the divide, ending with the conclusion that the field fairies are to be as discouraged from entering the forest as

possible.

"Dangerous," Bramble had warned him. "Full of trickery and deceit, Bog. They would never be our allies."

And Bog believed him. For half his life he had ruled over his domain, following the path his father had been on before. The Bramble King had been wise and had his reasons, Bog knew. He entrusted his son with the lives of the forest folk, and Bog had never neglected his duties.

There had been a few dark moments, after her, but overall, he was honourable and just, always doing the best he could for the forest folk.

But he never led them to war, before.

Sure, there had been scuffles with the other kingdoms of the Darklands that required some kind of violent resolutions, but generally speaking the life in the forest was peaceful and calm. Which was why the raids to the fields had always been such a diversion—a break in the monotony.

Terrorising elves may not seem like a fun activity to some, but it was harmless, and no one ever got hurt; Bog had been adamant about it. He took time to train goblins in non-violent scare tactics to repel the elves and other innocents that may have been in the way to the storehouses.

Now, he flew in a fury, wings struggling to propel him faster and ever faster to where he almost hoped the one singular fairy had threatened Marianne and hurt her so profoundly she suffered nightmares from the experience waited. A fairy that by all right should have been executed for his treason and actions. He had taken advantage of Sunny, dusted (though accidentally, Bog wasn't willing to forgive the infraction) Marsh, and caused calamity. Roland's head would roll if Bog could only get close enough.

But, despite the raging desire to shred the traitorous fairy to pieces, he forced himself to stay with the group of dragonfly mounted goblins. The smaller flying creatures could never hope to defeat him in speed, and at the moment, it was imperative to keep a united front.

No fool, Bog had sent out scouts to evaluate the size of the army the fairies brought with them. From the reports, it seemed as though the army contained twenty fairies and fifteen elves, all fully armoured, a fact that he presumed meant they sought a fight. Had it been for any other reasons, they would not have been in such a number nor would they be so armed with weapons.

The morning rapidly approached as his group neared the borderline. The faint scent of dew was heavy in the air, and Bog wondered whether the fairies had planned for an ambush, or whether there was another reason for the odd hour of the night. Up ahead the trees began to thin out, narrow openings showed the night-time plains of the Fairy Fields.

Marsh's request returned to him, asking him to go to the fields to visit Marianne. His only memory of the place was the day of the funeral, and it was a sad day. The death of the Fairy Queen came less than a year after the Bramble King passed, and the second-handed loss struck Bog hard. It was all he could do, to stand on the high branches and watch the procession, the wet-faced king and the silent, solemn princess. There had been others that displayed their grief more vocally, but the sight of the young girl's limp and hanging purple wings was what felt all too real.

She hadn't spoken while he was there to hear it, but that tiny instant their eyes met was a moment he wouldn't have ever forgotten—even had he never met her and seen the adult she grew to be.

Deep, overwhelming pools of pain shone out of dry eyes that seemed far older than they were. The distance meant nothing as she glanced up the tall tree, momentarily finding his eyes in the darkness of the branches. But, as it was one of the first times Bog left the Green Castle after Marsh had been born, he was too anxious to return to wait to speak to either the king or the princess.

Now, sixteen years later, he wondered what would have happened, had he made an effort to stay.

What could have happened, what might have changed, he didn't know. Better to stay in the present where he could still take action to keep the people he… _loved_ … safe.

The barren and dead gateway had more activity than it ought to have had. A single fairy waited on the fields' side of the border.

In a worn metal armour, he sat, long brown hair waving in the gentle freeze. As he got closer, Bog noted the longsword across his lap, seemingly well used and bloodied. The fairy noticed the goblins coming closer, and rose to his feet, resettling his long green cape behind him to cover his entire wingspan.

He appeared to be alone; despite all the reports of the scouts. The guards and soldiers that were meant to accompany him weren't there. Just that alarmed Bog, and with a glance and a silent hand gesture, he sent Bezz and Naal—his best trackers— to search for the missing guards. Bog didn't need to see their responding nods or hear their dragonflies fly away to know they would follow his orders. 

"Greetings, your majesty." 

Before the group reached the border, the fairy spoke. His voice had an odd quality to it, something Bog had felt before. Suspicious at the polite greeting, Bog sneered as he replied.

"Greetings, _traitor_."

A smile broke across the fairy's face—as cold and menacing as a snake baring its fangs. "My, aren't we friendly?" he said, the insolent grin widening at the narrow-eyed response he got.

Bog said nothing, his staff held at the ready. He knew it was best not to reveal the extent of his knowledge; not that he knew who likely stood before him or his intentions.

"Under the direct order of King Dagda, I have come to retrieve Princess Marianne of the Fairyfields and return her home to her rightful place as future queen," the fairy declared with a flourish of his hand, and Bog felt the pressure of the silky voice wash over him again. He resisted with ease and listened intently for the next words. "Should you not comply, I have been given the right to use any extreme measures in my disposal."

"Oh, aye. _Extreme_ measures, ye say?" Bog spoke through grinding teeth, keeping his temper with only the thinnest strip of self-control. "I'd personally say sitting on my border, claiming to be working for the fairy king and not against him is _extremely_ conceited. Don't ye think, Roland?"

At the mention of his name, the careful mask of haughty arrogance slipped into a snarl. "What did you call me?" 

Bog lowered his voice, stretching his lips in a vicious grin of savage self-satisfaction, showing every single sharp tooth and fang he possessed. "I know who ye are," he said.

"Give me Marianne, and we will not kill everyone in this wretched forest." Clearly, the loathsome fairy had given his pathetic attempts at what Bog assumed was Charming up, choosing to get right down to it.

"Why do ye think we even have the princess?" he asked, hooding his eyes as he looked down his nose at Roland.

"We know you and yours took her."

"What would _I_ , the Goblin King, do with a _fairy princess_ of all things?" Bog bluffed, pushing away distracting images that sought to flood his mind _. A lot. I would do a lot with her…_

Roland opened his mouth to answer, something insulting no doubt when another fairy joined them in a flurry of dark blue wings that were almost invisible against the sky.

At his back, the goblins muttered between them, uneasy at the intrusion. Bog stamped his staff down—the thump it should have made muffled by the soft ground—and they all settled again.

Thanks to the chatter, he missed the first part of the message the fairy conveyed—she was dark, with silver armour and a barely congealed gash over her eyebrow. Even in the dark of night, Bog saw the bruise over her jaw, and his stomach clenched painfully tight at the sight.

There could only be a few reasons this fairy was injured. Someone fought her and fought hard, but if she was still living, it could mean that either her opponent was taken down, killed, or captured. Having been on this earth long enough to know that anything that could go wrong, usually did, Bog jumped to the only conclusion that made sense.

_Oh no…_

"Well. It appears this negotiation had changed, after all." Roland turned, showing a dagger in his hand.

A beautifully carved weapon, with a wooden, artful lion's maw at the pommel. The dagger gleamed with fresh, red blood along the silver length, and Bog didn't need to get any closer than he was to be attacked with its familiar scent when the wind blew it straight in his direction.

_Marianne. Marianne's blood._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D 
> 
> That’s all I have to say.


End file.
